With  half  shut  eyes  ever  to  seem 
Falling  asleep  in  a  half  dream.'11 

ALFRED  TENNYSON,  The  Lotos  Eaters. 


ORIGINAL 


STORIES,  ESSAYS,  AND  POEMS, 


BY 


WHITELAW  REID,  WILKIE   COLLINS,   MARK    TWAIN,  JOHN    HAY,  JOHN    BROUGHAM,  NOAH 
BROOKS,  P.  V.   NASBY,    I.    H.    BROMLEY,   JOHN    ELDERKIN,    THOMAS    W.   KNOX,   W.   J. 
FLORENCE,    CHANDOS    FULTON,   J.    HENRY  HAGAR,    CHAMPION  BISSELL,   J.  B. 
BOUTON.    W.   S.   ANDREWS,  GILBERT  BURLING,   CHAS.  I.  PARDEE,  M.  D., 
C.  MCK.  LEOSER,  HON.  R.  B.  ROOSEVELT,  WILLIAM  F.  GILL,  C.  FLO- 
RIO,   C.  E.  L.  HOLMES,  CHARLES    GAYLER,  JAMES  PECH,  MUS. 
DOC.,    H.   S.    OLCOTT,    EDWARD    GREEY,   J.  BRANDER 
MATTHEWS,    AND    ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

EDITED    BY 

JOHN  BROUGHAM  AND  JOHN  ELDERKIN. 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM    F.   GILL    AND    COMPANY, 

LATE  SHEPARD  AND  GILL, 

151  WASHINGTON  STREET. 


7 

r 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874, 

BY  WILLIAM   F.   GILL  AND  COMPANY, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


TO 

ALFRED    TENNYSON, 

THE  POET  OF  OUR  TIME, 

SHjis  Book 

IS 

(WITH   HIS   SPECIAL   PERMISSION) 

AFFECTIONATELY     INSCRIBED 
BY 

THE   LOTOS   CLUB 

OF  NEW  YORK. 


M147340 


*4**/ 


PREFACE. 


TO   THE  SOVEREIGN  PEOPLE   OF   THE    UNITED   STATES. 

MAY  IT   PLEASE  YOUR   ROYAL   MULTIPLICITY  I  — 

'E,  the  subscribers  hereto,  appreciating  the 
absorbing  interest  taken  at  the  present 
period  in  the  occult  and  the  non-under- 
standable, beg  to  call  the  attention  of 
pansophic  inquirers  to  the  singular  MANI- 
FESTATIONS which  will  develop  themselves 
in  the  pages  following,  emanating,  as  they 

do,  from  a  group  of  edacious  and  bibitory  media,  who  materialize 
daily  at  the  refectory  of  the  LOTOS  CLUB. 

YOUR  AUGUST  POTENTIALITY  will  not  fail  to  observe  that  those 
spiritual  adumbrations  are  not  evanescent  or  fugaceous,  a  latrocinous 
cheat,  repugnant  to  common-sense  and  an  insult  to  the  most  par- 
vanimous  of  human  intelligences,  but  tangible  entities,  altogether 
stationary,  and  as  visible  to  every  eye  as  the  readablest  of  printed 
work. 

The  embodied  essences  which  will  in  due  time  appear,  —  psycholo- 
gic offspring  evoluted  from  the  mysterious  union  of  the  brain  and  pen, 
—  being  polygenous,  will  of  necessity  be  variform  and  dissimilar; 
but,  however  unlike  in  shape  and  feature  they  may  be  when  com- 
pared with  each  other,  yet  individually  they  will  be  found  to  exhibit 
sufficient  family  resemblance  to  indicate  their  paternity. 


x  PREFACE. 

In  Books,  as  in  Babies,  one  can  readily  discover  —  excepting  in  the 
cases  of  unequal  collaboration,  or  of  entirely  pilfered  matter,  foreign 
or  domestic  —  some  characteristic  trait  hereditary,  some  trick  of 
style  or  peculiarity  of  expression,  through  which  to  designate  the 
author  of  their  being. 

The  cerebral  progeny  of  the  LOTOS  will,  in  like  manner,  display 
upon  their  lineaments  the  shadowy  sign-manual  of  their  respective 
producers. 

With  this  brief  but  perspicuous  prolegomenon,  we  send  our  mul- 
tigenerous  youngsters  out  into  the  world,  to  be  judged  by  their 
merits ;  parental  solicitude  alone  urging  us  to  entreat  for  them  a 
liberal  indulgence,  if  it  be  only  for  their  juvenility. 

It  only  remains  to  say  that  the  pecuniary  profits,  if  any,  resulting 
from  the  promulgation  of  these  LEAVES  will  be  presented  to  the 

American  Dramatic  Fund. 

J.  B. 
J.  E. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

SOME  SOUTHERN  REMINISCENCES  ....  Whitelaw  Reid i 

THE  HYMN  OF  PRINCES John  Brougham 19 

AN  ENCOUNTER  WITH  AN  INTERVIEWER    .  Mark  Twain 25 

MY  HERMIT J.  B.  Bouton 33 

Miss  TS'EU Edward  Greey 59 

ANACREONTIC Charles  Gayler      .....  69 

THE  THEATER .  John  Elderkin 73 

POEM c.  McK  Leaser 97 

AN  EPISODE  OF  THE  WAR W.  S.  Andrews 101 

SUNRISE  AND  SUNSET C.  E.  L.  Holmes in 

FAIRY  GOLD John  Brougham 115 

THE  HAWK'S  NEST Gilbert  Burling 129 

To  A  FLOWER C.  Florio 145 

THE  PHYSICAL  REQUIREMENTS  OF  SONG    .  Charles  Inslee  Pardee,  M.  D.  .  149 

THE  TRUTHFUL  RESOLVER Petroleum  V.  Nasby  ....  157 

TRANSLATIONS C.  Florio 169 


xii  CONTENTS. 

A  FATAL  FORTUNE Wilkie  Collins 175 

IN  ECHO  CANON Noah  Brooks 203 

A  FRAGMENTARY  HINT  ON  A  FAULT  OF  THE 

ENGLISH  LANGUAGE Champion  Bissell 221 

LIBERTY John  Hay 227 

How  WE  HUNG  JOHN  BROWN Henry  S.  Olcott 231 

THE  WEED  THAT  CHEERS J.  Henry  Hager 251 

THE  ASPERITIES  OF  TRAVEL Thomas  W.  Knox     ....  261 

EDGAR  A.  POE  AND  HIS  BIOGRAPHER,  RUFUS 

W.  GRISWOLD William  F.  Gill 277 

LETHE C.  McK.  Leaser 307 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  THE  FISHES Robert  R.  Roosevelt    .    .    .    .  311 

THE  LOTOS-EATERS    . Alfred  Tennyson 319 

PLAYERS  IN  A  LARGE  DRAMA /.  ff.  Bromley 329 

BERTHA  KLEIN W.  J.  Florence 343 

NINE  TALES  OF  A  CAT J.  Brander  Matthews    .    .    .  359 

JOHN  AND  SUSIE Chandos  Fulton 367 

THE  THREE  GREAT  SYMPHONISTS      .    .    .    James  Pech 381 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Engraved  under  the  supervision  of  JOHN  ANDREW  AND  SON. 


DRAWN   BY  ENGRAVED   BY  PAGE 

"WITH  HALF-SHUT  EYES  EVER  TO  SEEM 

FALLING  ASLEEP  IN  A  HALF-DREAM  "  Alfred  Fredericks.  A  Bobbett    .     Frontispiece. 

THE  LOTOS John  La  Farge.     H.  Marsh    .     .  Title  Illus. 

LOG-ROLLING  IN  THE  SOUTH    .    .     .  C.  H.  Miller.         W.  J.  Linton    ...      8 

HYMN  OF  PRINCES Alfred  Fredericks.  John  Andrew  and  Son    22 

THE  HERMIT J.  H.  Dolph.         John  Andrew  and  Son    36 

"K-E-E-s    M-E-E" A.  Lyall.  John  Andrew  and  Son    67 

ANACREONTIC C.  H.  Story.          John  Andrew  and  Son    71 

"  WHEN  THY  ROSE  LIPS  I  GAZE  UPON  "  Arthur  Lumley.    John  Andrew  and  Son  100 

FAIRY  GOLD     .     .     .     . Alfred  Fredericks.  A.  Bobbett    .     .    .     .124 

THE  HAWK'S  NEST Gilbert  Burling.    H.  Linton    .    .     .     .132 

THE  LEVIATHAN  CLUB Th.  Wust.  John  Andrew  and  Son  167 

HER  ANSWER Arthur  Lumley.    John  Andrew  and  Son  193 

ECHO  CANON George  White.        John  Andrew  and  Son  220 

LIBERTY Alfred  Fredericks.  A.  Bobbett    .    .     .     .230 

THE  WEED  THAT  CHEERS     .     .     .     .  C.  H.  Chapin.       John  Andrew  and  Son  259 


xiv  LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

POE'S  SCHOOL  AND  PLAY-GROUND     From  the  Original.  John  Andrew  and  Son  282 

"THE      LOTOS      BLOWS      BY      EVERY 

WINDING  CREEK R.  E.  Piguet.         W.  J.  Linton  .    .    .321 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  TODESBLUME  .  George  White.        John  Andrew  and  Son  342 
ST.  CECILIA H.  B.  John  Andrew 'and 'Son  381 


HALF-TITLE    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

I.   THE  LOTOS  EATER i 

II.    EMBLEMS  OF  ROYALTY 19 

III.  VIGNETTE 25 

IV.  VIGNETTE 33 

V.   ORIENTAL  BARGE 59 

VI.   LOTOS  FLOWERS  AND  BUDS 69 

VII.   GREEK  MASKS— TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 73 

VIII.    VIGNETTE 97 

IX.   EMBLEMS  OF  WAR 101 

X.   VIGNETTE in 

XL   VIGNETTE 115 

XII.    VIGNETTE 129 

XIII.  LILIES .       .       .        .  145 

XIV.  ANTIQUE  LYRE 149 

XV.    ANTIQUE  EGYPTIAN  FIGURE 157 

XVI.    VIGNETTE 169 

XVII.    CUPID'S  DARTS  .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .175 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS.  xv 

XVIII.  VIGNETTE         ...........  203 

XIX.  SPEECH  AND  SONG  (HEAD)        .......  221 

XX.  THE  CROSS  OF  LIBERTY         ........  227 

XXI.  IMMORTELLES       ..........  231 

XXII.  SYMBOLIC  EMBLEM  (  LOTOS)          .......  251 

XXIII.  VIGNETTE    ...........  261 

XXIV.  RAVEN  AND  BELLS  ..........  277 

XXV.  ANTIQUE  HEAD  WITH  LOTOS  FLOWERS    .....  307 

XXVI.  VIGNETTE        .....     *  ......  3" 

XXVII.  THE  SPHINX        .........  3'9 

XXVIII.  MASKS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY  (MODERN)  .  .  .  .329 

XXIX.  VIGNETTE    ....       .......  343 

XXX.  VIGNETTE  ......  .  .  .  •  •  -359 

XXXI.  VIGNETTE     ...........  3^7 


The  ornamental  initials  at  the  opening  of  each  article  were  expressly  designed  for  this  volume  by 
JOHN  ANDREW  AND  SON. 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 


SOME  SOUTHERN  REMINISCENCES. 


SOME    SOUTHERN     REMINISCENCES. 

BY    WHITELAW    REID. 

HE  Publishers'  despatch  demands,  rather  sud- 
denly, a  contribution  to  the  Lotos  Leaves. 
Thus  energetically  summoned,  I  can,  on  the 
instant,  think  of  nothing  better  than  to  go  back 
to  my  real  lotos-eating  days.  They  were 
passed  in  that  pleasant  land  where  once,  to 
cotton-planters  as  well  as  poets,  it  seemed  always 
afternoon,,  but  where  now,  alas !  it  too  often  looks  as  if  the 
blackness  of  midnight  had  settled.  I  spent  a  year  or  two,  after 
the  close  of  the  war  in  the  Southern  States,  mostly  on  Louis- 
iana and  Alabama  cotton-plantations ;  and  if  I  must  "  write 
something  and  at  once,'1  I  shall  merely  try  to  revive  some  recol- 
lections of  that  experience. 

It  was  one  of  those  perfect  days  which  Louisianians  get  in 
February,  instead  of  waiting,  like  poor  Massachusetts  Yankees, 
till  June  for  them,  when  I  crossed  from  Natchez  to  take  pos- 
session of  two  of  the  three  river  plantations  on  which  I  dreamed 
of  making  my  fortune  in  a  year.  The  road  led  directly  down 
the  levee.  On  the  right  rolled  the  Mississippi,  still  far  below 
its  banks,  and  giving  no  sign  of  the  flood  that  a  few  months 
later  was  to  drown  our  hopes.  To  the  left  stretched  westward 
for  a  mile  the  unbroken  expanse  of  cotton  land,  bounded  by 


LOTOS   LEAVES. 


the  dark  fringe  of  cypress  and  the  swamp.  Through  a  drove 
of  scrawny  cattle  and  broken-down  mules,  pasturing  on  the  rich 
Bermuda  grass  along  the  levee,  under  the  lazy  care  of  the 
one-armed  "  stock-minder,"  I  made  my  way  at  last  down  a 
grassy  lane  to  the  broad-porched,  many-windowed  cottage, 
propped  up  four  or  five  feet  from  the  damp  soil  by  pillars  of 
cypress,  which  the  agent  had  called  the  "  mansion."  It  looked 
out  pleasantly  from  the  foliage  of  a  grove  of  China  and  pecan 
trees,  and  was  flanked,  on  the  one  hand  by  a  beautifully  culti- 
vated vegetable  garden,  several  acres  in  extent,  and  on  the 
other  by  the  "  quarters,"  —  a  double  row  of  cabins,  each  with 
two  rooms  and  a  projecting  roof,  covering  an  earthen-floored 
porch.  A  street,  overgrown  with  grass  and  weeds,  ran  from  the 
"mansion"  down  between  the  rows  of  cabins,  and  stopped  at 
the  plantation  blacksmith  and  carpenter  shop.  Behind  each 
cabin  was  a  little  garden,  jealously  fenced  off  from  all  the  rest 
with  the  roughest  of  cypress  pickets,  and  its  gate  guarded  by 
an  enormous  padlock.  "  Niggers  never  trust  one  another  about 
their  gardens  or  hen-houses,"  explained  the  overseer,  who  was 
making  me  acquainted  with  my  new  home. 

To  the  westward  the  plantations  sloped  gently  back  from  the 
house  to  the  cypress-swamp,  which  shut  in  the  view.  Not  a 
tree  or  fence  broke  the  monotony  of  the  surface,  but  half  a 
dozen  wide  open  ditches  led  down  to  the  swamp,  and  were 
crossed,  at  no  less  than  seven  places,  by  long  lines  of  embank- 
ments, each,  as  one  looked  toward  the  swamp,  seeming  higher 
than  those  beyond  it.  The  lands  were  entirely  safe  from  any 
overflow  from  the  Mississippi  in  front ;  but  crevasses,  miles 
above,  almost  every  year  poured  floods  back  into  the  swamp ; 
thence  the  enemy  gradually  crept  up  on  the  rear,  and  about 


SOME   SOUTHERN   REMINISCENCES.  5 

June  the  fight  with  the  water  began.  An  effort  would  be  made  to 
stop  it  at  the  first  line  of  embankment ;  this  failing,  the  leading 
ditches  would  be  closed,  and  the  next  embankment,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  yards  farther  up  from  the  swamp,  would  be  strength- 
ened and  guarded.  Failing  there,  the  negroes  would  retreat  to 
the  next.  The  sluggish,  muddy  sheet  of  water  would  scarcely 
seem  to  move  ;  but  each  day  it  would  advance  a  few  inches. 
The  year  before,  the  negroes  had  only  been  able  to  arrest  it 
at  the  embankment  nearest  the  river.  Some  months  later  I 
soberly  realized  that  I  had  done  little  better ;  out  of  twelve 
hundred  acres  of  cotton  land,  my  predecessors  had  only  been 
able  to  save  three  hundred,  and  I  barely  rescued  two  hundred 
more.  Then,  as  the  waters  receded,  we  planted  in  the  ooze, 
just  in  time  to  have  the  cotton  beautifully  fresh  and  tender  for 
the  worms  in  August. 

But  as  I  rode  out  first,  that  perfect  day,  among  the  gang  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  negroes,  who,  on  these  plantations,  were  for 
the  year  to  compromise  between  their  respect  and  their  new- 
born spirit  of  independence  by  calling  me  Mistah  instead  of 
Massa,  there  were  no  forebodings.  Two  "plough-gangs"  and 
two  "hoe-gangs"  were  slowly  measuring  their  length  along  the 
two-mile  front.  Among  each  rode  its  own  negro  driver,  some- 
times lounging  in  his  saddle  with  one  leg  lodged  on  the  pommel, 
sometimes  shouting  sharp,  abrupt  orders  to  the  delinquents. 
In  each  plough-gang  were  fifteen  pairs  of  scrawny  mules,  with 
corn-husk  collars,  gunny-bag  back-bands,  and  bedcord  plough- 
lines.  The  Calhoun  ploughs  (the  favorite  implement  through  all 
that  region,  then,  and  doubtless  still,  retaining  the  name  given 
it  long  before  war  was  dreamed  of)  were  rather  lazily  managed 
by  the  picked  hands  of  the  plantation.  Among  them  were 


6  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

several  women,  who  proved  among  the  best  laborers  in  the 
gang.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  a  picturesque  sight  presented 
itself.  A  great  crowd  of  women  and  children,  with  a  few  aged 
or  weakly  men  among  them,  were  scattered  along  the  old 
cotton-rows,  chopping  down  weeds,  gathering  together  the 
trash  that  covered  the  land,  and  firing  little  heaps  of  it,  while 
through  the  clouds  of  smoke  came  an  incessant  chatter  of  the 
girls,  and  an  occasional  snatch  of  a  camp-meeting  hymn  from 
the  elders.  "  Gib  me  some  backey,  please,"  was  the  first  saluta- 
tion I  received.  They  were  dressed  in  a  stout  blue  cotton ade, 
the  skirts  drawn  up  to  the  knees,  and  reefed  in  a  loose  bunch 
about  the  waists ;  brogans  of  incredible  sizes  covered  their 
feet,  and  there  was  little  waste  of  money  on  the  useless  decency 
of  stockings,  but  gay  bandannas  were  wound  in  profuse  splendor 
around  their  heads. 

The  moment  the  sun  disappeared  every  hoe  was  shouldered. 
Some  took  up  army-blouses  or  stout  men's  overcoats,  and  drew 
them  on  ;  others  gathered  fragments  of  bark  to  kindle  their 
evening  fires,  and  balanced  them  nicely  on  their  heads.  In 
a  moment  the  whole  noisy  crowd  was  filing  across  the  plan- 
tation toward  the  quarters,  joining  the  plough-gang,  pleading 
for  rides  on  the  mules,  or  flirting  with  the  drivers,  and  looking 
as  much  like  a  troop  flocking  to  a  circus  or  rustic  fair  as  a 
party  of  weary  farm-laborers.  At  the  house  the  drivers  soon 
reported  their  grievances.  "  Dem  women  done  been  squabblin' 
'mong  dei'selves  dis  a'ternoon,  so  I 's  hardly  git  any  wuck  at 
all  out  of  'em."  f<  Fanny  and  Milly  done  got  sick  to-day ;  an' 
Sally 's  heerd  dat  her  husban'  's  mustered  out  ob  de  army, 
an'  she  gone  up  to  Natchez  to  fine  him."  "Dem  sucklers  ain't 
jus'  wuf  nuffin  at  all.  'Bout  eight  o'clock  dey  goes  off  to  de 


SOME   SOUTHERN    REMINISCENCES.  7 

quarters  to  deir  babies,  an'  I  don'  nebber  see  ntiffin  mo'  ob  'em 
till  'bout  elebben.  Den  de  same  way  in  de  a'ternoon,  till  I 's  sick 
ob  de  hull  lot."  "  De  Moody  [Bermuda  grass]  mighty  tough 
'long  heah,  an'  I  could  n't  make  dem  women  put  in  deir  hoes  to 
suit  me  nohow."  Presently  men  and  women  trooped  up  for  the 
tickets  representing  their  day's  work.  The  women  were  soon 
busy  preparing  their  supper  of  mess  pork  and  early  vegetables  ; 
while  the  plough-gang  gathered  about  the  overseer.  "He'd 
done  promise  dem  a  drink  o'  whiskey,  if  dey  'd  finish  dat  cut, 
and  dey'd  done  it."  The  whiskey  was  soon  forthcoming,  well 
watered,  with  a  trifle  of  cayenne  pepper  to  conceal  the  lack  of 
spirit,  and  a  little  tobacco  soaked  in  it  to  preserve  the  color. 
The  most  drank  it  down  at  a  gulp  from  the  glass  into  which, 
for  one  after  another,  the  overseer  poured  "  de  'lowance."  A 
few,  as  their  turns  came,  passed  up  tin  cups,  and  went  off  with 
the  treasure,  chuckling  about  "de  splennid  toddy  we's  hab  to- 
night." Then  came  a  little  trade  with  the  overseer  at  "  the 
store."  Some  wanted  a  pound  or  two  of  sugar ;  others,  a  paper 
of  needles  or  a  bar  of  soap  ;  many  of  the  young  men,  "  two  bits' 
wuf "  of  candy,  or  a  brass  ring.  In  an  hour  trade  was  over,  and 
the  quarters  were  as  silent  as  a  churchyard.  But,  next  morn- 
ing, at  four  o'clock,  I  was  aroused  by  the  shrill  "  driber's  horn." 
Two  hours  later  it  was  blown  again,  and,  looking  from  my 
window  just  as  the  first  red  rays  of  light  came  level  across  the 
field,  I  saw  the  women  filing  out,  with  their  hoes,  and  the  plough- 
men leisurely  sauntering  down  to  the  stables,  each  with  corn- 
husk  collars  and  bedcord  plough-lines  in  his  hands. 

Somewhat  different  was  my  first  sight  of  our  third  plantation. 
It  was  fifteen  miles  farther  down  the  river,  from  which  it  was 
hidden  by  a  mile  of  swampy  forest.  It  had  been  freshly  cleared 


LOTOS   LEAVES. 

a  little  before  the  war,  had  been  neglected  since,  was  overgrown 
with  briers,  and  covered  with  fallen  logs.     Remote,  wild,  gloomy, 
it  almost  recalled  that  weird  picture  of  the  Red  River  plantation 
on  which  Mrs.  Stowe  abandoned  Uncle  Tom  to  the  mercies  of 
Legree.     Nor  was  this  impression  lessened  when  I  found  that 
the  overseer  had  for  twenty  years  followed  his  calling  during 
the  existence  of  slavery.     But  the  most  cordial  feeling  seemed 
to  subsist  between  him  and  the  negroes.     "  Him  allus  good  man, 
befo'  dis  time  come  in,"  they  said.     "  He  allus  did  us  niggers 
jussice."     Here  he  had  them  divided  into  three  gangs,  "the 
hoes,  log-rollers,  and  ploughs."     Riding  through  the  quarters,  one 
seemed  to  come  out  at  once  upon  an  immense  Western  clearing. 
Everywhere  still  stood  the  deadened  cypresses  :  it  was  through 
a  forest  of  their  decaying  bodies  that  the  eye  reached  in  the 
distance  the  living  forest  and  the  swamp.     Half-way  back  was  a 
scene  of  unusual  animation.     The  overseer  kept  his  three  gangs 
near  each  other,  the  hoes  ahead,  pushing  hard  behind  them  the 
log-rollers,  and,  shouting  constantly  to  the  log-rollers  to  keep  out 
of  their  way,  the  plough-men.     The  air  was  filled  with  a  dense 
smoke  from  the  burning  briers  and  logs.     Moving  about  among 
the  fires,  raking  together   the  trash,  chopping   the  briers,  now 
seizing  a  brand  from  a  burning  heap  and  dexterously  using  it  to 
fire  half  a  dozen  others,  then  hurrying  forward  to  catch  up  with 
the  gang,  singing,  laughing,  teasing  the  log-rollers  to  "cotch  us 
if  you  kin,"  were  the  short-skirted,  black-faced  damsels,  twenty 
or  twenty-five  in  number,  who  composed  the  trash-gang.     Be- 
fore the  little  heaps  were  half  burnt,  the  log-rollers  were  among 
them.     A  stout  black  fellow,  whiskey-bottle  in  hand,  gave  direc- 
tions.    At  least  half  of  this  gang  also  were  women,  each  armed, 
like  the  men,  with  a  formidable  hand-spike.     They  were  very 


SOME    SOUTHERN    REMINISCENCES.  9 

proud  of  their  distinction,  and  wanted  it  understood  that  "  dey 
was  n't  none  of  you'  triflin'  hoe-han's  ;  dey  was  log-rollers,  dey 
was."  Selecting  the  log  hardest  to  be  moved  as  the  centre  for  a 
heap,  the  driver  shouted,  "  Now,  heah,  hurry  up  dat  log  dere, 
and  put  it  on  dis  side,  heah."  A  dozen  hand-spikes  were  thrust 
under  it,  and  every  woman's  voice  shouted  in  shrill  chorus, 
"  Come  up  wid  de  log,  come  up  wid  de  log."  "  Man  agin  man 
dere,"  the  driver  would  cry,  "  gal  agin  gal ;  all  togedder  wid 
you,  if  you  spec  any  wate'  out  o'  dis  bottle."  Sometimes  be- 
fore these  heaps  were  fired  the  ploughs  were  upon  them,  every 
ploughman  urging  his  mules  almost  into  a  trot,  and  the  driver 
occasionally  shouting,  "  Git  out  o'  de  way  dere,  you  lazy  log- 
rollers,  or  we  plough  right  ober  ye."  The  land  was  a  loose 
loam,  turning  up  like  an  ash-heap,  and  both  negroes  and  mules 
seemed  to  thrive  on  the  hard  work. 

The  overseer  rarely  left  the  field.  With  one  leg  lazily 
thrown  across  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  he  lounged  in  his 
seat,  occasionally  addressing  a  mild  suggestion  to  one  of  the 
men,  or  saying  to  the  driver  that  the  other  gangs  were  pressing 
him  pretty  close.  Then,  riding  over  to  the  next,  he  would  hint 
that  the  trash-gang  was  getting  ahead  of  them,  or  that  the 
ploughs  would  catch  them  soon  if  they  were  n't  careful.  All 
treated  him  with  the  utmost  respect.  I  am  satisfied  that  no 
Northern  laborers  of  the  same  degree  of  intelligence  ever 
worked  more  faithfully,  more  cheerfully,  or  with  better  re- 
sults. 

Very  novel,  and  sometimes  very  droll,  seem  to  me  now  the 
experiences  of  the  year  on  these  plantations.  One  of  the  first 
was  my  effort  to  reform  a  "bad  nigger."  His  old  owner,  so 
the  gossip  ran,  had  once  or  twice  wanted  him  killed  ;  last  year 


10  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

the  overseer  had  snapped  a  pistol  at  him  ;  altogether,  there 
was  no  managing  him.  A  genial  old-time  planter,  my  nearest 
neighbor,  warned  me  that  the  boy  was  desperate,  and  ought 
to  be  driven  off  the  place.  In  my  Northern  wisdom  I  laughed 
at  the  warning.  "  Of  course  your  system  drove  any  negro 
of  spirit  into  revolt,"  I  argued  ;  "  and  so  you  had  what  you 
call  a  dangerous  nigger.  Now  he  sees  that  he  gets  the  re- 
ward of  his  own  labor,  and  so  freedom  makes  a  first-class 
hand  of  him."  But  the  old  slaveholder  shook  his  head.  It 
was  not  long  till  I  saw  he  had  reason.  My  model  reformed 
negro  was  caught  stealing  pork  and  selling  it,  getting  drunk, 
drawing  a  loaded  musket  on  his  brother-in-law,  and  the  like. 
"  I  '11  never  give  in  to  your  new-fangled  notions  agin,"  growled 
the  overseer.  "  A  nigger  's  a  nigger,  and  I  Ve  only  made  a 
fool  of  myself  in  trying  to  make  anything  else  out  of  him." 
And  so  a  warrant  was  procured  for  his  arrest.  Hearing  of 
the  warrant,  the  boy  ran  away.  In  about  three  weeks  he 
returned,  very  defiant,  and  boasting  that  no  white  man  could 
arrest  him.  He  had  been  to  the  Bureau,  and  knew  the  law ; 
he  was  armed,  and  meant  to  go  where  he  pleased.  But  he 
was  promptly  taken,  without  resistance,  before  a  justice  of  the 
peace.  Three  negro  witnesses  established  his  guilt,  and  he 
was  committed  to  jail  to  await  a  trial  by  court,  with  every 
prospect  of  being  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  a  year  or  two. 
Among  the  witnesses  against  him  was  the  brother-in-law  he 
had  threatened  to  shoot.  When  Philos  was  being  locked  up 
he  called  to  this  man  and  said, — 

"Arthur,  you  know  I 's  alms  hated  you,  and  talked  'bout 
you  ;  but  you  was  right,  when  you  tole  me  not  to  git  into 
no  sich  troubles  as  dis." 


SOME   SOUTHERN    REMINISCENCES.  II 

"  Philos,"  ejaculated  Arthur,  precipitating  his  words  out  in 
shotted  volleys,  "  I  allus  tole  you  so.  You  said,  when  you 
come  back,  dat  you  'd  been  to  de  Bureau,  —  knowd  de  law,  — 
dat  no  white  man  could  'rest  you.  I  tole  you  den  you  did  n't 
know  nuffin  'bout  law,  —  dat  no  law  'lowed  you  to  carry  on 
mean." 

"Well,  I  t'ought  I  did  know  sumfin  'bout  law  den,  but  I 
shore,  now,  I  don't" 

"  Dat 's  so,  Philos  ;  but  I  tell  ye,  you  'm  got  in  a  mighty  safe 
place  now,  whar  you  'm  got  nuffin  in  de  wold  to  do  but  to  study 
law  !  I  reckon,  Philos,  by  de  time  you  git  out  ob  heah,  you  '11 
be  a  mighty  larned  nigger  in  de  law  !  Good  by,  Philos." 

"  The  worst  thing  about  these  niggers,"  explained  the  justice, 
"  is,  that  they  seem  to  have  no  conception  of  their  responsibility. 
That  boy,  Philos,  can't  see  why  a  word  from  his  employer  is  n't 
enough  now  to  release  him,  as  it  would  have  done  while  he  was 
a  slave.  He  does  n't  comprehend  the  fact  that  he  has  com- 
mitted an  offence  against  the  State,  as  well  as  against  his  em- 
ployer." 

Most  of  the  negroes  seemed  very  anxious  to  learn  to  read, 
but  now  and  then  one  sturdily  adhered  to  his  old  belief  that 
learning  was  only  good  for  white  men.  "  Wat 's  de  use  ob 
niggers  pretendin'  to  learnin'  ?  "  exclaimed  one  of  my  drivers. 
"  Dere  's  dat  new  boy  Reub.  Missah  Powell  sent  me  to  weigh 
out  his  'lowance.  He  brag  so  much  about  readin'  an'  edication 
dat  I  try  him.  I  put  on  tree  poun'  po'k,  an'  I  say,  '  Reub,  kin 
you  read  ? '  He  say,  '  Lor'  bress  you,  did  n't  you  know  I 's  edi- 
cated  nigger  ? '  I  say,  '  Well,  den,  read  dat  figger,  an'  tell  me 
how  much  po'k  you  'm  got  dar.'  He  scratch  he  head,  an'  look 
at  de  figger  all  roun',  an'  den  he  say,  '  Jus'  seben  poun',  zacly.' 


12  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Den  I  say  to  de  po'  fool,  '  Take  you'  seben  poun'  an'  go  'long.' 
Much  good  his  larnin'  did  him.  He  los'  a  poun'  o'  po'k  by  it, 
for  I  was  gwine  to  gib  him  fo'  poun'." 

Early  after  my  arrival,  I  had  one  of  the  overseers  take  me 
to  the  negro  church.  On  secular  days  it  was  the  blacksmith's 
shop.  Now  it  looked  fresh,  and  almost  attractive,  half  rilled 
with  the  people  of  the  plantation.  All  seemed  pleased  to  see  us 
enter,  and  I  soon  found  that  we  were  not  to  pass  unnoticed. 
The  old  preacher,  who  was  none  other  than  the  plantation  gar- 
dener, was  not  one  of  those  who  fail  to  magnify  their  office. 
He  was  delighted  at  his  Sunday  official  superiority  to  his  em- 
ployer, and  at  the  chance  to  level  his  broadsides  at  two  white 
men  ;  and  he  certainly  showed  us  no  mercy.  "  White  men  might 
t'ink  dey  could  git  'long,  because  dey  was  rich  ;  but  dey  'd  find 
demselves  mistaken  when  damnation  and  hell-fire  was  a'ter  dem. 
No,  my  breddering  an'  sistering,  black  an'  white,  we  must  all 
be  'umble.  'Umbleness  '11  tote  us  a  great  many  places  whar 
money  won't  do  us  no  good.  De  Lo'd,  who  knows  all  our 
gwines  in  an'  comin's  out,  he  '11  'ceive  us  all  at  de  las',  if  we  be- 
have ou'selves  heah.  Now,  my  breddering  an'  sistering,  white 
an'  black,  I  stand  heah  for  de  Lo'd,  to  say  to  ebery  one  ob  you 
heah,  be  'umble  an'  behave  you'selves  on  de  yearth,  an'  you  shall 
hab  a  crown  ob  light.  Ebery  one  ob  you  mus'  tote  his  cross  on 
de  yearth,  eben  as  our  bressed  Master  toted  hisn." 

This  was  about  the  average  style  of  the  sermon.  Part  of  it 
was  delivered  in  a  quiet,  conversational  tone  ;  at  other  times  the 
preacher's  voice  rose  into  a  prolonged  and  not  unmusical  ca- 
dence. He  was  really  a  good  man,  and  whenever  any  meaning 
lurked  in  his  numberless  repetitions  of  cant  phrases,  picked  up 
from  the  whites  to  whom  he  had  listened,  it  was  always  a  good 


SOME   SOUTHERN   REMINISCENCES.  13 

one.  The  small  audience  sat  silent  and  perfectly  undemon- 
strative. The  preacher  once  or  twice  remarked  that  there  were 
so  few  present  that  he  did  n't  feel  much  like  exhorting  ;  it  was 
hardly  worth  while  to  go  to  much  trouble  for  so  few ;  and  final- 
ly, with  a  repetition  of  this  opinion,  he  told  them  "  dey  might 
sing  some  if  dey  wanted  to,"  and  took  his  seat. 

"  D — n  the  old  fellow,"  whispered  the  overseer ;  "  he  don't 
do  no  retail  business.  He  wants  to  save  souls  by  hullsale,  or 
else  not  at  all !  " 

The  passion  for  whiskey  seemed  universal.  I  never  saw  man, 
woman,  or  child,  reckless  young  scapegrace  or  sanctimonious 
old  preacher,  among  them,  who  would  refuse  it ;  and  the  most 
had  no  hesitancy  in  begging  it  whenever  they  could.  Many  of 
them  spent  half  their  earnings  buying  whiskey.  That  sold  on 
any  of  the  plantations  I  ever  visited  or  heard  of  was  always 
watered  down  at  least  one  fourth.  Perhaps  it  was  owing  to 
this  fact,  though  it  seemed  rather  an  evidence  of  unexpected 
powers  of  self-restraint,  that  so  few  were  to  be  seen  intoxi- 
cated. 

During  the  two  or  three  years  in  which  I  spent  most  of  my 
time  among  them,  seeing  scores  and  sometimes  hundreds  in  a 
day,  I  do  not  now  remember  seeing  more  than  one  man  abso- 
lutely drunk.  He  had  bought  a  quart  of  whiskey,  one  Saturday 
night,  at  a  low  liquor-shop  in  Natchez.  Next  morning  early 
he  attacked  it,  and  in  about  an  hour  the  whiskey  and  he  were 
used  up  together.  Hearing  an  unusual  noise  in  the  quarters,  I 
walked  down  that  way  and  found  the  plough-driver  and  the  over- 
seer both  trying  to  quiet  Horace.  He  was  unable  to  stand 
alone,  but  he  contrived  to  do  a  vast  deal  of  shouting.  As  I  ap- 
proached, the  driver  said,  "  Horace,  don't  make  so  much  noise  ; 


14  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

don't  you  see  Mr.  R.  ? "  He  looked  round,  as  if  surprised  at 
learning  it. 

"  Boss,  is  dat  you  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Boss,  I 's  drunk;  boss,  I 's  'shamed  o'  myself!  but  I 's 
drunk  !  I  'sarve  good  w'ipping.  Boss, —  boss,  s-s-slap  me  in  de 
face,  boss." 

I  was  not  much  disposed  to  administer  the  "  slapping  "  ;  but 
Horace  kept  repeating,  with  a  drunken  man's  persistency, 
"  Slap  me  in  de  face,  boss ;  please,  boss."  Finally  I  did  give 
him  a  ringing  cuff  on  the  ear.  Horace  jerked  off  his  cap,  and 
ducked  down  his  head  with  great  respect,  saying,  "  T'ank  you, 
boss."  Then,  grinning  his  maudlin  smile,  he  threw  open  his 
arms  as  if  to  embrace  me,  and  exclaimed,  "Now  kiss  me, 
boss  !  " 

Next  morning  Horace  was  at  work  with  the  rest,  and  though 
he  bought  many  quarts  of  whiskey  afterwards,  I  never  saw  him 
drunk  again. 

But  the  revival  of  these  old  recollections  of  Southern  experi- 
ence has  already  outrun  reasonable,  limits.  Let  me  close  with 
some  brief  account  of  a  visit  —  since  made  by  many  North- 
erners —  to  the  now  well-known  cemetery  of  Buonaventura, 
near  Savannah.  It  was  in  the  spring  of  1865.  Aside  from 
the  army  officials,  we  were  almost  the  first  visitors  from  the 
North  since  the  war.  "  Doesticks "  (Mortimer  Thompson), 
indeed,  had  preceded  us,  and  to  our  amazement  was  found  in 
Savannah  editing  a  daily  newspaper  ;  and,  true  to  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  craft,  was  breathing  out  threatenings  and  slaughter 
against  the  common  enemy  of  most  newspapers  in  war  times, 


SOME    SOUTHERN    REMINISCENCES.  15 

—  the  commanding  general.  The  sandy  roads  leading  into 
Savannah  were  still  crowded  with  the  rickety  wagons  of  refu- 
gees, —  the  whites  fleeing  from  starvation,  the  negroes  hurry- 
ing from  the  plantations  they  had  never  before  been  able  to 
leave  of  their  own  free  will,  to  get  their  first  taste  of  liberty 
and  city  life.  Out  of  this  scene  of  squalor  we  suddenly  turned 
into  what  seemed  a  great  and  stately  forest.  The  finest  live- 
oak  trees  I  had  seen  in  the  South  stretched  away  in  long 
avenues  on  either  hand,  intersected  by  cross  avenues,  and 
arched  with  interlacing  branches  till  the  roof  over  our  heads 
looked,  in  living  green,  a  groining  after  the  pattern  of  Gothic 
arches,  in  some  magnificent  old  cathedral.  One  of  the  Tatnalls, 
probably  an  ancestor  of  the  Commodore  of  our  navy,  of  Chinese 
and  Confederate  note,  long  ago  selected  this  site  for  his  resi- 
dence, builded  his  house,  and  laid  out  the  grounds  in  these 
noble  avenues.  The  house  was  burned  during  some  holiday 
rejoicings.  An  idea  that  the  place  was  unhealthy  possessed 
the  owners,  and,  with  a  curious  taste,  the  soil  that  was  too  dan- 
gerous for  men  to  live  upon  was  straightway  selected  for  dead 
men  to  be  buried  in.  We  would  hardly  choose  a  malarious 
bottom  or  a  Northern  tamarack-swamp  for  a  burying-ground, 
beautiful  as  either  might  be.  But  what  matters  it?  After 
life's  fitful  fever,  the  few  interred  here  sleep  doubtless  as 
sweetly  beneath  the  gigantic  oaks  in  the  solemn  avenues  as 
if  on  breeziest  upland  of  mountain  heather. 

Even  into  this  secluded  gloom  had  come  the  traces  of  our 
civil  wars.  The  only  large  monument  in  the  cemetery  bore 
the  simple  inscription  of  "  Clinch,"  and  within  it  lay,  I  was 
told,  the  father-in-law  of  "  Sumter  Anderson,"  as  in  all  our 
history  he  is  henceforth  to  be  known.  Some  vandal  had 


16  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

broken  down  the  marble  slab  that  closed  the  tomb,  and  had 
exposed  the  coffins  within. 

This  very  barbarism,  and  the  absence  of  the  rows  of  care- 
fully tended  graves,  and  the  headstones  with  affectionate 
inscriptions  that  mark  all  other  cemeteries,  increased  the  im- 
pressive gloom  of  the  lonely  place.  The  sun  strove  in  vain 
to  penetrate  the  arches  overhead.  Here  and  again  a  stray 
beam  struggled  through,  only  to  light  up  with  a  ghostly  silver 
radiance  the  long,  downward-pointing  spear  of  the  Tillandsia, 
or  Spanish  moss.  The  coolness  was  marvellous ;  the  silence 
profound,  deepened  indeed  by  the  gentle  ripplings  of  the  little 
stream,  by  which  the  farther  side  of  the  cemetery  was  bounded. 
Everywhere  the  arches  were  hung  with  the  deathly  festoons  of 
the  Spanish  moss,  slowly  stealing  sap  and  vigor  —  fit  funeral 
work  —  from  these  giant  oaks,  and  fattening  on  their  decay. 
Drive  where  you  would,  the  moss  still  fluttered  in  your  face 
and  waved  over  your  head,  and,  lit  with  the  accidental  ray 
from  above,  pointed  its  warning  silvery  light  toward  the  graves 
beneath  your  feet ;  while  it  clung,  in  the  embrace  of  death,  to 
the  sturdy  oaks  on  which  it  had  fastened,  and  preached  and 
practised  destruction  together.  Noble  and  lusty  oaks  are 
these ;  glorious  in  spreading  boughs  and  lofty  arches  and 
fluttering  foliage,  but  dying  in  the  soft  embrace  of  the  parasite 
that  clings  and  droops,  and  makes  yet  more  picturesque  and 
beautiful  in  decay,  —  dying,  even  as  Georgia  was  dying  in  the 
embrace  of  another  parasite,  having  a  phase  not  less  pictu- 
resque, and  a  poisonous  progress  not  less  subtly  gentle. 

Some  day,  when  Georgia  has  fully  recovered,  this  spot,  too, 
will  feel  the  returning  tide  of  her  generous,  healthy  blood.  The 
rank  undergrowth  will  be  cleared  away  ;  broad  walks  will  be 


SOME   SOUTHERN   REMINISCENCES.  I/ 

laid  out  among  the  tombs  where  now  are  only  tangled  and 
serpent- infested  paths  ;  shafts  will  rise  up  to  the  green  arches 
to  commemorate  the  names  of  those,  of  whatever  race,  most 
deserving  in  the  State  ;  the  heroes  of  past  struggles  will  here 
find  fit  resting-place,  whichever  side  they  fought  for,  if  only 
they  did  it  on  their  consciences  and  like  true  men  ;  and  the 
Tillandsia,  still  waving  its  witchery  of  silver,  will  then  seem 
only  like  myriad  drooping  plumes  of  white,  forever  tremulously 
pendent  over  graves  at  which  the  State  is  weeping. 


THE  HYMN  OF  PRINCES. 


THE  HYMN  OF  PRINCES. 

BY  JOHN    BROUGHAM. 


"  By  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  twenty  thousand  of  the  enemy  are  left  upon  the 
field.     Order  a  TE  DEUM  !  "  —  Telegram  from  the  King  of  Prussia  to  the  Queen. 


ORD  !    we  have  given,  in  thy  name, 
The  peaceful  villages  to  flame. 
Of  all,  the  dwellers  we  Ve  bereft ; 
No  trace  of  hearth,  no  roof-tree  left. 
Beneath  our  war-steeds'  iron  tread 
The  germ  of  future  life  is  dead ; 

We  have  swept  o'er  it  like  a  blight: 

To  thee  the  praise,  O  GOD  OF  RIGHT! 


Some  hours  ago,  on  yonder  plain 
There  stood  six  hundred  thousand  men, 
Made  in  thine  image,  strong,  and  rife 
With  hope  and  energy  and  life  ; 
And  none  but  had  some  prized  one  dear, 
Grief-stricken,  wild  with  anxious  fear : 
A  third  of  them  we  have  made  ghosts : 
To  thee  the  praise,  O  LORD  OF  HOSTS  ! 


22  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

We  have  let  loose  the  demon  chained 

In  bestial  hearts,  that,  unrestrained, 

Infernal  revel  it  may  hold, 

And  feast  on  villanies  untold ; 

With  ravening  drunkenness  possessed, 

And  mercy  banished  from  each  breast, 

All  war's  atrocities  above  : 

To  thee  the  praise,  O  GOD  OF  LOVE  ! 

Secure  behind  a  wall  of  steel, 

To  watch  the  yielding  columns  reel, 

While  round  them  sulphurous  clouds  arise, 

Foul  incense  wafting  to  the  skies 

From  our  Home-manufactured  Hell !  — 

Is  royal  pastime  we  like  well, 

As  momently  Death's  ranks  increase : 

To  thee  the  praise,  O  GOD  OF  PEACE  ! 

Thy  sacred  temples  we  Ve  not  spared, 
For  they  the  broad  destruction  shared ; 
The  annals  of  time-honored  lore, 
Lost  to  the  world,  are  now  no  more. 
What  reck  we  if  the  holy  fane 
Or  learning's  dome  is  mourned  in  vain  ? 
Our  work  those  landmarks  to  efface  : 
To  thee  the  praise,  O  LORD  OF  GRACE  ! 

Thus  shall  it  be,  while  humankind, 
Madly  perverse  or  wholly  blind, 


THE    HYMN    OF    PRINCES.  23 

Will  so  complacently  be  led, 

At  our  command,  their  blood  to  shed, 

For  lust  of  conquest,  £>r  the  sly, 

Deceptive  diplomatic  lie : 

To  us  the  gain,  to  them  the  ruth  ; 

To  thee  the  praise,  O  GOD  OF  TRUTH  ! 


AN  ENCOUNTER  WITH  AN  INTERVIEWER. 


AN  ENCOUNTER  WITH  AN    IN- 
TERVIEWER. 

BY    MARK    TWAIN. 

HE  nervous,  dapper,  "  peart "  young  man  took  the 
chair  I  offered  him,  and  said  he  was  connected  with 
the  Daily  Thunderstorm,  and  added,  — 

"Hoping  it's  no  harm,  I've  come  to  interview 
you." 

"Come  to  what?" 
"Interview  you." 

"  Ah  !     I  see.     Yes,  —  yes.     Urn  !     Yes,  —  yes." 
I  was  not  feeling  bright  that  morning.     Indeed,  my  powers 
seemed  a  bit  under  a  cloud.     However,  I  went  to  the  bookcase, 
and  when  I  had  been  looking  six  or  seven  minutes,  I  found  I 
was  obliged  to  refer  to  the  young  man.     I  said,  — 
"How, do  you  spell  it  ?" 
"Spell  what?" 
"  Interview." 

"  O  my  goodness  !     What  do  you  want  to  spell  it  for  ?  " 
"  I  don't  want  to  spell  it ;  I  want  to  see  what  it  means." 
"  Well,  this  is  astonishing,  I  must  say.     7  can  tell  you  what  it 
means,  if  you  — if  you  —  " 

"  O,  all  right !     That  will  answer,  and  much  obliged  to  you, 
too." 


28  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

"  I  n,  in,  t  e  r,  ter,  inter  — ' 

"Then  you  spell  it  with  an  I?" 

"  Why,  certainly  !  " 

"  O,  that  is  what  took  me  so  long." 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,  what  did^w  propose  to  spell  it  with  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  —  I  —  I  hardly  know.  I  had  the  Unabridged,  and 
I  was  ciphering  around  in  the  back  end,  hoping  I  might  tree 
her  among  the  pictures.  But  it  's  a  very  old  edition." 

"  Why,  my  friend,  they  would  n't  have  a  picture  of  it  in 
even  the  latest  e —  My  dear  sir,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  mean  no 
harm  in  the  world,  but  you  do  not  look  as  —  as  —  intelligent 
as  I  had  expected  you  would.  No  harm,  —  I  mean  no  harm 
at  all." 

"  O,  don't  mention  it !  It  has  often  been  said,  and  by  people 
who  would  not  flatter  and  who  could  have  no  inducement  to 
flatter,  that  I  am  quite  remarkable  in  that  way.  Yes, — yes; 
they  always  speak  of  it  with  rapture." 

"  I  can  easily  imagine  it.  But  about  this  interview.  You 
know  it  is  the  custom,  now,  to  interview  any  man  who  has 
become  notorious!" 

"  Indeed  !  I  had  not  heard  of  it  before.  It  must  be  very 
interesting.  What  do  you  do  it  with  ? " 

"  Ah,  well,  —  well,  —  well,  —  this  is  disheartening.  It  ought 
to  be  done  with  a  club  in  some  cases  ;  but  customarily  it  con- 
sists in  the  interviewer  asking  questions  and  the  interviewed 
answering  them.  It  is  all  the  rage  now.  Will  you  let  me 
ask  you  certain  (questions  calculated  to  bring  out  the  salient 
points  of  your  public  and  private  history  ? " 

"  O,  with  pleasure,  —  with  pleasure.  I  have  a  very  bad  mem- 
ory, but  I  hope  you  will  not  mind  that.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  an 


AN   ENCOUNTER   WITH   AN    INTERVIEWER.        29 

irregular  memory,  —  singularly  irregular.  Sometimes  it  goes  in 
a  gallop,  and  then  again  it  will  be  as  much  as  a  fortnight  pass- 
ing a  given  point.  This  is  a  great  grief  to  me" 

"  O,  it  is  no  matter,  so  you  will  try  to  do  the  best  you 
can." 

"  I  will.     I  will  put  my  whole  mind  on  it." 

"  Thanks.     Are  you  ready  to  begin  ?  " 

"  Ready." 

I 

Q.    How  old  are  you  ? 

A.    Nineteen,  in  June. 

Q.  Indeed  !  I  would  have  taken  you  to  be  thirty-five  or  six. 
Where  were  you  born  ? 

A.    In  Missouri. 
*  Q.    When  did  you  begin  to  write  ? 

A.    In    1836. 

Q.   Why,  how  could  that  be,  if  you  are  only  nineteen  now  ? 

A.    I  don't  know.     It  does  seem  curious,  somehow. 

Q.  It  does,  indeed.  Who  do  you  consider  the  most  remark- 
able man  you  ever  met  ? 

A.   Aaron  Burr. 

Q.  But  you  never  could  have  met  Aaron  Burr,  if  you  are  only 
nineteen  years  — 

A.  Now,  if  you  know  more  about  me  than  I  do,  what  do 
you  ask  me  for  ? 

Q.  Well,  it  was  only  a  suggestion  ;  nothing  more.  How  did 
you  happen  to  meet  Burr  ? 

A.  Well,  I  happened  to  be  at  his  funeral  one  day,  and  he 
asked  me  to  make  less  noise,  and  — 

Q.   But,  good  heavens  !  if  you  were  at  his  funeral,  he  must 


30  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

have  been  dead  ;  and  if  he  was  dead,  how  could  he  care  whether 
you  made  a  noise  or  not  ? 

A.  I  don't  know.  He  was  always  a  particular  kind  of  a  man 
that  way. 

Q.  Still,  I  don't  understand  it  at  all.  You  say  he  spoke  to 
you  and  that  he  was  dead. 

A.   I  did  n't  say  he  was  dead. 

Q.    But  wasn't  he  dead? 

A.   Well,  some  said  he  was,  some  said  he  was  n't. 

Q.   What  did  you  think  ? 

A.  O,  it  was  none  of  my  business  !  It  was  n't  any  of  my 
funeral. 

Q.  Did  you  —  However,  we  can  never  get  this  matter 
straight.  Let  me  ask  about  something  else.  What  was  the 
date  of  your  birth  ? 

A.   Monday,  October  31,  1693. 

Q.  What !  Impossible  !  That  would  make  you  a  hundred 
and  eighty  years  old.  How  do  you  account  for  that  ? 

A.   I  don't  account  for  it  at  all. 

Q.  But  you  said  at  first  you  were  only  nineteen,  and  now  you 
make  yourself  out  to  be  one  hundred  and  eighty.  It  is  an  awful 
discrepancy. 

A.  Why,  have  you  noticed  that  ?  (Shaking-  hands?)  Many 
a  time  it  has  seemed  to  me  like  a  discrepancy,  but  somehow  I 
could  n't  make  up  my  mind.  How  quick  you  notice  a  thing  ! 

Q.  Thank  you  for  the  compliment,  as  far  as  it  goes.  Had 
you,  or  have  you,  any  brothers  or  sisters  ? 

A.   Eh  !     I  —  I  —  I  think  so,  —  yes,  —  but  I  don't  remember. 

Q.  Well,  that  is  the  most  extraordinary  statement  I  ever 
heard  ! 


AN    ENCOUNTER  WITH   AN   INTERVIEWER.        31 

A.    Why,  what  makes  you  think  that? 

Q.  How  could  I  think  otherwise  ?  Why,  look  here  !  who  is 
this  a  picture  of  on  the  wall  ?  Is  n't  that  a  brother  of  yours  ? 

A.  Oh  !  yes,  yes,  yes  !  Now  you  remind  me  of  it,  that  was  a 
brother  of  mine.  That 's  William,  —  Bill  we  called  him.  Poor 
old  Bill! 

Q.    Why  ?     Is  he  dead,  then  ? 

A.  Ah,  well,  I  suppose  so.  We  never  could  tell.  There  was 
a  great  mystery  about  it. 

Q.    That  is  sad,  very  sad.     He  disappeared,  then  ? 

A.   Well,  yes,  in  a  sort  of  general  way.     We  buried  him. 

Q.  Buried  him  !  Buried  him  without  knowing  whether  he 
was  dead  or  not  ? 

A.    O  no !     Not  that.     He  was  dead  enough. 

Q.  Well,  I  confess  that  I  can't  understand  this.  If  you 
buried  him  and  you  knew  he  was  dead  — 

A.    No  !  no  !  we  only  thought  he  was. 

Q.    O,  I  see  !     He  came  to  life  again  ? 

A.    I  bet  he  didn't. 

Q.  Well,  I  never  heard  anything  like  this.  Somebody  was 
dead.  Somebody  was  buried.  Now,  where  was  the  mystery  ? 

A.  Ah,  that 's  just  it !  That 's  it  exactly.  You  see  we  were 
twins,  —  defunct  and  I,  —  and  we  got  mixed  in  the  bath-tub 
when  we  were  only  two  weeks  old,  and  one  of  us  was  drowned. 
But  we  did  n't  know  which.  Some  think  it  was  Bill,  some  think 
it  was  me. 

Q.    Well,  that  is  remarkable.     What  do  you  think  ? 

A.  Goodness  knows  !  I  would  give  whole  worlds  to  know. 
This  solemn,  this  awful  mystery  has  cast  a  gloom  over  my  whole 
life.  But  I  will  tell  you  a  secret  now,  which  I  never  have 


32  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

revealed  to  any  creature  before.  One  of  us  had  a  peculiar 
mark,  a  large  mole  on  the  back  of  his  left  hand,  —  that  was 
me.  That  child  was  the  one  that  was  drowned. 

Q.  Very  well,  then,  I  don't  see  that  there  is  any*  mystery 
about  it,  after  all. 

A.  You  don't'?  Well,  /  do.  Anyway  I  don't  see  how  they 
could  ever  have  been  such  a  blundering  lot  as  to  go  and  bury 
the  wrong  child.  But,  'sh  !  —  don't  mention  it  where  the  family 
can  hear  of  it.  Heaven  knows  they  have  heart-breaking  troubles 
enough  without  adding  this. 

Q.  Well,  I  believe  I  have  got  material  enough  for  the  present, 
and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  pains  you  have 
taken.  But  I  was  a  good  deal  interested  in  that  account  of 
Aaron  Burr's  funeral.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  par- 
ticular circumstance  it  was  that  made  you  think  Burr  was  such 
a  remarkable  man  ? 

A.  O,  it  was  a  mere  trifle  !  Not  one  man  in  fifty  would 
have  noticed  it  at  all.  When  the  sermon  was  over,  and  the  pro- 
cession all  ready  to  start  for  the  cemetery,  and  the  body  all 
arranged  nice  in  the  hearse,  he  said  he  wanted  to  take  a  last 
look  at  the  scenery,  and  so  he  got  up  and  rode  with  the  driver. 

Then  the  young  man  reverently  withdrew.  He  was  very 
pleasant  company,  and  I  was  sorry  to  see  him  go. 


MY  HERMIT. 


MY    HERMIT. 

BY   J.    B.    BOUTON. 
PART   THE   FIRST. 

N  the  early  summer  it  pleases  me  to  take  late  after- 
noon walks  in  the  upper  part  of  Central  Park.  Its 
natural  scenery  is  varied  and  romantic,  and  judicious 
Art  has  heightened  its  picturesqueness.  Best  of  all, 
it  is  not  invaded  by  pedestrian  mobs,  whose  feeble 
legs  and  unambitious  souls  restrict  them  to  the  con- 
ventional haunts  below  the  Ramble.  There,  in  a  region 
sometimes  all  my  own,  not  even  a  policeman  pacing  its 
foot-ways,  I  can  stride  along,  swinging  my  cane  freely,  and 
whistling,  chanting,  or  reciting  favorite  bits  of  poetry,  no 
more  noticed  or  obstructed  than  I  would  be  in  the  wilds  of 
Minnesota.  I  imagine  myself  in  the  real  country,  minus 
its  dusty  roads  and  frequent  incident  of  dogs  shooting  out 
from  wayside  huts  and  snapping  at  my  heels.  It  is  good 
enough  rurality  for  me. 

Last  year  (1872),  about  the  close  of  June,  I  became 
aware  —  unpleasantly  aware,  to  be  candid  —  that  the  north 
end  of  the  Park  had  another  genius  loci.  I  came  across 
him  in  curving  by-paths  and  odd  nooks  that  I  had  claimed 
by  right  of  sole  tenantry.  He  particularly  affected  that 
snuggest  and  shadiest  of  retreats,  the  Grotto  Bridge  I  call 


36  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

it,  beneath  which  one  may  sit  on  a  ribbed  and  knobby 
bench,  and  be  soothed  by  the  drowsy  monotone  of  the  little 
waterfall  in  the  Loch  above,  and  rejoice  what  time  the  hot 
air  is  cooled  by  ribbon  jets  that  spurt  forever  from  the  rough 
face  of  the  grotto  upon  him.  From  the  top  wall  of  this 
concavity  hang  miniature  stalactites  two  or  three  inches 
long,  formed  by  deposits  from  water  slowly  trickling  through 
limestone.  These  have  been  ten  years  in  making  ;  and  one 
idly  speculates  about  them  that,  in  a  hundred  centuries 
or  less  (or  more),  they  will  each  be  as  thick  as  a  man's 
thigh,  and  fill  up  the  grotto  till  it  looks  like  a  bunch  of 
organ-pipes.  There  is  no  place  like  it  to  sit  and  cool  off, 
smoking  a  cigar  and  surrendering  to  a  delicious  stupor. 

This  new  man  —  this  rash  invader  of  my  domain  —  was 
not  very  remarkable  in  appearance.  He  was  strongly  built, 
a  perfect  bull  through  neck  and  shoulders,  and  had  a  com- 
monplace face,  which  would  not  have  caught  my  attention 
twice  but  for  the  furtive  look  that  he  cast  at  me  when  I 
first  saw  him.  It  was  an  oblique,  suspicious  glance,  quick  as 
lightning.  Ever  after,  when  I  dropped  upon  him  suddenly, 
as  I  wheeled  a  corner  or  dived  into  a  hollow,  he  shot  that 
searching  eye  at  me.  Then  I  began  to  study  him.  His 
face  was  one  of  which  you  may  find  a  thousand  duplicates 
at  a  mass  meeting.  Photographs  show  them  pretty  much 
alike,  and  verbal  descriptions  cannot  do  better.  Nature's  ev- 
ery-day  pottery,  —  a  low  flat  forehead,  pug  nose,  high  cheek- 
bones, wide  mouth,  and  thin  lips.  His  cheeks  were  deeply 
bronzed,  as  if  by  frontage  of  wind  and  weather ;  but  I  noticed 
once,  when  his  hat  was  off,  that  his  brow  was  white.  He 
wore  the  brim  well  down  over  his  eyes.  His  dress  from 


MY   HERMIT.  37 

head  to  foot  looked  second-hand  and  seedy  ;  it  did  not  fit 
him  anywhere.  His  eyes  were  clear,  his  face  unbloated  ;  he 
was  evidently  not  a  'drunkard,  though  his  miserable  clothes 
and  dirty  shirt  looked  like  the  last  unpawned  possession  of 
the  sot.  A  grizzled  beard,  perhaps  of  a  month's  growth,  gave 
him  the  concluding  touch  of  ugliness. 

Occasionally  I  surprised  him  in  the  act  of  eating  crackers 
and  cheese,  bits  of  chicken,  morsels  of  red  herring,  pickles,  and 
other  trifles  as  inharmonious.  These  odds  and  ends  he  carried 
loose  in  his  coat-pockets,  and  when  he  saw  that  I  observed 
him  he  hastily  put  away  the  fragments  with  a  slight  cough. 
I  never  caught  him  Dreading  a  book  or  a  paper  ;  so,  plainly, 
he  was  not  a  poor  scholar.  Though  when  seated  he  was 
looking  intently  at  nothing,  I  did  not  imagine  him  to  be  a 
thinker,  grubbing  at  some  deep  social  problem,  or  an  inventor 
distressing  himself  over  some  mechanical  puzzle.  If  this  able- 
bodied  man  was  poor,  why  was  he  lounging  in  the  Park, 
when  he  could  get  work  down  town  on  his  own  terms  at 
eight  hours  a  day  ?  If  he  was  vicious  and  criminal,  why 
was  he  not  among  his  pals  in  the  back  slums  and  alleys  ? 
The  more  I  saw  of  him,  the  more  my  curiosity  became  ex- 
cited to  know  something  of  his  history  ;  and  one  afternoon 
it  fell  out  that  my  desire  for  knowledge  was  gratified. 

One  hot  day  in  the  last  week  of  June,  I  was  out  for 
exercise.  My  appetite  being  languid,  I  walked  a  little  faster 
than  my  regulation  gait  to  stir  it  up.  Reaching  the  Grotto 
Bridge,  I  was  somewhat  heated  and  tired,  and  at  first  right 
vexed  to  find  the  rustic  sofa  occupied.  The  incumbent  was 
MY  MYSTERY.  From  the  debris  about  him  it  was  apparent 
he  had  been  eating,  of  all  things,  soda-biscuit  and  pickles, 


38  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

and  the  very  moment  I  saw  him  he  threw  what  looked  like 
an  empty  jam-pot  behind  the  seat.  Never  did  the  poor  fel- 
low look  so  much  confused,  and  I  felt  the  impulse  to  pass  on 
and  leave  him  to  his  eccentric  meal.  But  I  was  flushed  and 
wearied,  and  needed  coolness  and  rest.  And  then  —  that  was 
a  time  as  good  as  any  to  drop  into  his  acquaintance. 

I  sat  down  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  weariness.  The 
man  looked  at  me  askew,  and  put  out  his  hand  to  take  up  a 
walking-stick,  made  of  the  branch  of  a  tree.  I  saw  that  I 
must  act  promptly. 

"  Warmish,"  said  I,  mopping  my  face. 

"  Ye-yes."     And  he  moved   as   if  to   rise   and   be   off. 

Something  more  decisive  must  be  done.  "  Take  a  cigar," 
said  I,  offering  him  one.  "  Nice  place  this  for  a  smoke." 

This  touched  his  heart,  and  opened  his  mouth,  as  I  knew 
it  would.  His  eyes  sparkled  as  he  took  the  cigar  and 
made  a  bow  of  thanks.  Then  he  said,  huskily,  "  Bern'  as 
I  'm  a  hermit,  sir,  I  can't  afford  cigars.  I  goes  a  pipe,  and 
don't  allers  have  terbacker  for  that." 

A  hermit !  Well,  I  was  astonished.  From  boyhood  I  had 
read  of  hermits,  and  taken  a  deep  interest  in  those  mys- 
terious beings.  Twice  I  had  made  journeys  of  a  number 
of  miles  into  the  depths  of  forests  to  find  hermits,  reported 
to  inhabit  certain  huts  ;  but  they  were  not  at  home,  if, 
indeed,  they  existed  outside  the  diseased  imagination  of  news- 
paper paragraphists.  And  here  was  a  hermit  at  my  door, 
as  I  might  say,  —  in  Central  Park,  of  all  places  !  I  would  as 
soon  have  thought  to  see  a  boa-constrictor  gliding  across  the 
Mall,  or  a  whale  spouting  in  the  Ladies'  Lake. 

"  Ah  !    so  you  are  a  hermit,"    said  I,  carelessly,  to  disguise 


MY   HERMIT.  39 

my  emotions,  and  as  if  hermits  were  the  commonest  crea- 
tures on  earth.  "  Excuse  me,  may  I  ask  where 's  your 
cave  ? "  You  see  hermits  were  associated  in  my  mind  with 
caves  primarily. 

"  Cave  ?  There  ain't  no  cave  in  the  Park,  'cept  the  one 
everybody  knows,  a  mile  furder  down.  That  air  one 's  too 
wet  to  live  in.  I  tried  it  one  night,  and  got  the  roomatiz." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  I,  offhand-like,  "  I  see,  you  are  a  wood- 
hermit.  Plenty  of  trees  and  underbrush  round  here,  where 
a  fellow  could  stow  himself  away.  Now,  you  know,  I  have 
always  thought,  if  I  should  turn  hermit,  I  'd  take  to  the 
woods.  It  must  be  glorious  to  sleep  in  the  open  air,  these 
fine  frights,  beneath  the  grand  old  trees,  canopied  by  the 
starry  —  " 

The  man  interrupted  me.  "  It 's  cheap,"  said  he.  "  It 
don't  cost  nothing.  That 's  what  I  likes  it  for." 

"Exactly,  —  and  healthy.  Anybody  could  see  that  by  your 
looks.  But  how  do  you  manage  when  it  rains  ? " 

The  man  .peered  at  me  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  and 
hesitated.  I  knocked  the  ash  from  my  cigar,  and  looked 
at  him  as  innocently  as  I  could.  Then  he  said,  in  his  shy 
half-voice  :  "  You  don't  'pear  to  be  a  detective,  and  I  don't 
b'l'eve  you  'd  blow  on  a  poor  feller  like  me ;  so  I  don't 
mind  tellin'  you  how  I  works  it." 

Hermit  as  he  was,  the  man  could  not  repress  the  social 
instincts  of  humanity.  I  saw  he  was  bursting  for  confi- 
dence and  sympathy. 

"  My  friend,"  said  I,  seriously,  "  your  secret  is  safe  with 
me.  If  there  is  anything  I  was  brought  up  to  respect,  it 
is  the  feelings  of  hermits." 


40  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

This  reassured  him.  He  sidled  closer  to  me.  "  You 
know,"  said  he,  "  the  cops  don't  'low  nobody  in  the  Park 
after  nine  clock  at  night.  I  don't  do  no  harm  here,  but 
I  has  to  be  careful,  or  they'd  nab  me."  Then  he  cast  his 
eyes  warily  about,  and  pointed  upward.  "  You  see  that  cock- 
loft ? " 

I  looked  up  and  saw  a  large  open  space  between  a  part 
of  the  stonework  and  the  timbers  of  the  bridge.  I  had  often 
noticed  it  before,  and  thought  it  a  mighty  fine  place  for 
hiding. 

"  When  the  weather  is  good  and  the  grass  dry,  then  you 
see  I  sleeps  on  the  ground  up  in  the  woods  on  the  hill  yon- 
der. But  if  it 's  rainy  I  gets  on  the  bridge  overhead  and 
swings  down  easy  nuf  into  that  air  cubby-hole.  'T  ain't  bad, 
I  tell  ye,  with  straw  and  leaves  up  there,  and  all  out  of 
sight" 

"  And  't  is  very  comfortable,  I  dare  say ;  but  how  do  you 
dodge  the  police  ?  As  you  remark,  they  would  turn  you  out 
or  arrest  you  if  they  found  you  here  after  nine  P.  M.  I  know 
they  are  not  as  sharp  or  strict  as  the  regular  city  police." 

"  That  's  it.  You  Ve  hit  it.  If  they  wos  the  blue-coats 
they  'd  snake  me  out  in  no  time.  But  they  're  another 
breed,  —  them  chaps  in  gray.  They  takes  it  easy.  I  jest 
minds  my  bizness  and  they  minds  theirs ;  but  out  of  re- 
speck  for  'em,  I  keeps  out  o'  sight  arter  I  hears  the  fire-bells 
strike  nine.  Gi'  me  the  Park  perlice  for  not  botherin'  a 
feller  — "  And  the  man  checked  himself  as  if  he  were  about 
to  say  too  much. 

I  saw,  by  this  time,  that  the  man  beside  me  was  a  vulgar 
person.  Not  a  sage  who  had  retired  from  life  disgusted  to 


MY    HERMIT.  41 

chew  on  his  misanthropy.  Not  a  man  once  rich  and  used  to 
luxury,  suddenly  made  poor  and  reckless.  It  seemed  impos- 
sible that  such  a  tough  specimen  could  have  been  mortally 
wounded  through  the  affections.  Still,  he  was  a  bona  fide 
hermit,  —  no  better  one,  perhaps,  within  a  thousand  miles. 
And,  in  a  certain  sense,  he  was  my  hermit.  I  already  began 
to  feel  a  proprietary  .interest  in  him. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "may  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  how 
you  live  ?  Have  you  any  occupation  ?  " 

The  hermit  glanced  suspiciously  at  me,  coughed,  and  made 
no  reply.  I  saw  his  embarrassment,  and  was  sorry  the  impo- 
lite question  had  escaped  me.  So  I  said,  jocosely :  "  Your 
expenses  can't  be  much.  Rent,  they  say,  is  one  fifth  the 
cost  of  living.  Your  rent  costs  you  nothing.  Five  times 
naught  is  naught,  —  how  's  that  for  a  calculation  ? " 

He  smiled  and  said,  "That's  about  it."  I  perceived  that  I 
must  try  another  tack. 

"  Pray,  sir,  tell  me  one  thing.  Don't  you  find  the  time 
heavy,  with  nothing  to  do  all  these  hours  ?  It  would  kill 
me." 

"  I  don't  ketch  your  idee.  Time  heavy  !  How  can  it  be 
when  I  ain't  at  work,  —  only  whistlin'  and  walkin'  about  and 
sittin'  down.  That 's  what  I  calls  comfort." 

This  strange  person  and  myself  took  widely  different  views 
of  life ;  that  was  clear.  So  I  only  said :  "  It  is  a  matter 
of  taste.  But  I  never  could  understand  how  a  man  could 
endure  life  without  something  to  do.  I  'm  afraid  I  would 
never  make  a  good  hermit." 

He  looked  at  me  straight  in  the  face,  and  slowly  uttered 
these  words :  "  /  am  broken  hearted'.'  There  was  no  emotion 


42  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

visible  in  his  face ;  his  voice  did  not  tremble  ;  but  he  cov- 
ered his  eyes  with  his  hands. 

The  remark  moved  me  deeply,  for  it  was  totally  unex- 
pected, and  seemed  natural.  I  had  read  and  heard  of  bro- 
ken-hearted men,  but  it  had  never  been  my  good  fortune  (or 
otherwise)  to  know  one  personally.  Therefore,  I  was  not 
conversant,  except  through  the  pages  of  novels,  with  the 
external  phenomena  peculiar  to  the  broken  heart  in  males, 
but  had  somehow  associated  them  with  cadaverous  visages 
and  attenuated  frames.  Here  was  my  hermit  as  fat  as  a 
buck  and  red  as  a  lobster.  A  broken  heart  had  not  occurred 
to  me  as  a  part  of  his  damaged  general  property.  But  he 
said  he  had  a  broken  heart,  and  it  was  only  civil  to  believe 
him. 

"The  woman!  the  inevitable  woman,"  I  murmured  to  my- 
self; and  I  yearned  to  know  what  that  dear  disturber  of  the 
Universal  Peace  had  done  to  my  poor  hermit,  to  drive  him 
to  lodgings  al  fresco,  and  a  mixed  diet  of  soda-crackers,  her- 
rings, and  pickles.  "Tell  me  about  it,"  said  I,  kindly. 

Gratefully  he  looked  up.  Still  no  tears  in  his  eyes,  no 
quiver  on  his  lip.  He  was  able  to  master  his  feelings,  and 
that  pleased  me,  for  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  see  him 
blubbering  like  a  school-boy. 

The  substance  of  his  story  I  will  give  in  a  few  words  in- 
stead of  the  many  in  which  he  told  it. 

The  man's  name  was  Winterbottom,  —  Thomas  Winter- 
bottom,  —  and  he  lived  in  the  city,  and  was  by  trade  a  pic- 
ture-frame maker.  He  once  had  a  good  business,  a  wife  not 
so  good,  and  one  child.  All  was  going  on  happily  in  the 
Winterbottom  nest,  when  a  gas-fitter  named  Juggins  appeared 


MY   HERMIT.  43 

on  the  scene  in  the  familiar  role  of  the  Demon  of  the  House- 
hold, or  the  Destroyer  of  Domestic  Peace.  After  the  usual 
amount  cf  preliminary  skirmishing,  Mrs.  Winterbottom  came 
to  open  rupture  with  her  husband,  and  in  his  absence  left 
the  house  one  night,  and  transferred  herself,  her  child,  and 
all  her  portable  property  to  a  new  home,  —  a  home  rented, 
furnished,  and  the  running  expenses  thereof  paid  by  Juggins, 
the  perfidious  gas-fitter.  Winterbottom  tracked  his  recreant 
partner  to  the  Juggins  lair,  and  would  have  taken  her  away 
but  for  the  untoward  circumstances  that  she  drove  him  out 
of  the  room  with  a  mop,  and  Juggins  kicked  him  down  stairs 
and  threatened  to  shoot  him  if  he  showed  himself  again  on 
the  premises. 

My  face  must  have  betrayed  my  disgust  at  the  pusilla- 
nimity of  the  man,  for  he  said  quickly,  "  Mind  ye,  Mister, 
'twas  n't  the  mop  I  wos  afraid  on.  I'm  used  to  that.  But 
Juggins  is  about  seven  foot  high,  and  carries  a  six-shooter. 
What  could  I  do  ?  —  /,  a  quiet,  peaceable  feller,  what  would  n't 
hurt  a  mouse." 

"Don't  ask  me,"  said  I,  a  little  impatiently.  "I  can't  med- 
dle in  family  quarrels." 

"I  thought  ter  take  the  law  on  him.  But  there  ain't  no 
law." 

"Not  much,"  said  I. 

"  I  don't  see  but  what  he  could  shoot  me,  if  he  wanted  ter, 
and  get  off." 

"I'm  sure  he  could,"  said  I.  And  I  volunteered  this  addi- 
tional exposition  of  existing  law  (jury  law)  on  the  subject: 
"Juggins  or  your  wife  could  shoot  you,  or  you  could  shoot 
Juggins  or  your  wife,  or  both  of  them,  or,  for  that  matter, 


44  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

you  could  shoot  me  or  any  other  man.  There  's  no  punish- 
ment for  it.  But  on  some  accounts,  —  slight,  to  be  sure,  —  it 
is  inconvenient  to  take  the  law  into  your  own  hands,  and  I 
would  not  be  understood  as  advising  you  to  do  it.  If  you 
really  want  my  opinion  — " 

"  I  do,  sir,"  said  the  hermit,  respectfully. 

Then  I  say,  "  Pick  up  courage.  Let  your  wife  slide.  Go 
to  work." 

My  advice  was  not  very  palatable  to  Winterbottom,  espe- 
cially as  I  rose  to  leave,  mindful  of  dinner,  which  was  now 
quite  due,  and  I  three  or  four  miles  away. 

"  My  wife  may  slide,  sir.  She  may  slide  as  much  as  she 
pleases,  sir.  I  've  done  with  her.  But  I  can't  work.  I  'm 
broken-hearted,  and  I  must  be  a  hermit,  —  allers  a  hermit. 
This  is  where  I  '11  pass  the  rest  of  my  days,  if  the  perlice 
don't  drive  me  out,  and  I  sha'  n't  live  long  noway." 

I  had  to  show  the  common  feelings  of  humanity,  though 
my  hermit  was  beginning  to  be  a  bore,  and  I  said,  "But 
what  will  you  do  in  winter  ?  You  cannot  sleep  in  the  Park. 
If  you  do  you  will  freeze,  or,  if  not  freeze,  starve  to  death." 

"Yes,  I'll  sleep  here,"  he  answered,  recklessly;  "on  the 
snow,  on  the  ice,  anywhere.  Some  day  you  '11  read  a  story 
in  the  paper  about  a  man  frozen  to  death  up  in  that  hole 
thar.  That  '11  be  Tommy  Winterbottom.  I  don't  mind. 
But  there  's  one  favor  I  would  ask,  sir,  if  you  please." 

I  had  put  my  best  foot  forward  for  a  quick  walk  home ; 
but  at  this  point  I  rested. 

"  I  spoke  about  my  child,  sir.  Her  name  is  A-Ara- 
Arabella.  As  you  say,  sir,  and  it 's  very  good  of  you,  let 
Mrs.  W.  slide.  But  I  want  to  save  my  child  from  her  and 


.  MY   HERMIT.  45 

from  that  villain  Juggins.  She  's  a  bright,  pooty  gal,  sir, 
'bout  twelve  year  old ;  't  would  do  your  heart  good  to  see  her. 
And  she  vvos  allers  very  fond  of  her  pa.  [Here  my  herrrnt 
pulled  out  a  ragged  and  dirty  handkerchief,  and  wiped  his 
eyes,  in  which,  however,  I  had  not  observed  any  moisture.] 
What  I  'd  like  to  do  is  this,  sir.  I  'd  like  to  get  a  sight  of 
her,  by  watchin'  round  the  house,  and  kinder  smuggle  her 
off,  sir.  Her  grandmother,  sir,  and  lots  of  other  relatives, 
lives  in  Philadelfy.  They'd  keep  her,  sir,  and  bring  her  up 
honest.  I  'm  sure  they  would,  and  no  fifty  Misses  W.s 
could  n't  tear  her  away  from  'em.  That  beast  of  a  Jug- 
gins, —  he  'd  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  her.  My  poor  Arabella ! 
I  hears  as  how  he  beats  her,  and  she  has  n't  no  shoes  to 
wear,  and  not  a  bonnet  to  her  head.  If  I  only  had  ten  dol- 
lars, that  ud  get  a  ticket  for  her  on  the  railroad,  and  a  pair 
o'  shoes,  and  p'r'aps  a  bonnet.  Then  I  could  steal  her  off 
some  night,  sir,  and  send  her  to  Philadelfy,  and  I  know 
she  'd  be  safe  and  happy.  As  for  poor  Tommy  Winterbot- 
tom,  he  can  stay  here  and  die,  cos  his  heart  it  is  broken. 
Could  n't  you  lend  me  ten  dollars,  sir  ?  Fancy  how  you  'd 
feel  if  you  wos  fixed  like  me."  The  speaker  wiped  his  eyes 
(I  forgot  to  note  if  they  were  dry  this  time)  elaborately  with 
his  musty  handkerchief. 

His  narrative  touched  me.  I  tried  to  fancy  how  I  should 
feel,  as  he  requested  me  to,  and  I  confessed  to  myself  I 
should  feel  bad.  But  that  did  not  warrant  my  giving  him 
ten  dollars.  And,  on  a  little  reflection,  I  could  not  credit 
his  story  ;  and  even  were  it  true,  I  had  no  business  to  be 
mixing  myself  up  in  a  family  quarrel  and  a  kidnapping  case 
to  boot.  I  decided  not  to  give  him  the  sum  asked,  or  to 


46  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

countenance  his  romantic  scheme  in  the  least.  But'  still  he 
was  my  hermit,  and  he  looked  to  me  for  patronage. 

Rising  hastily,  and  determined  to  put  an  end  to  this  din- 
ner-killing interview,  I  handed  him  a  small  bill  rolled  up: 
"  That 's  the  best  I  can  do.  It  is  for  yourself  only.  I  can- 
not interfere  between  you  and  Mrs.  Winterbottom,  but  I  pity 
you.  And  now,  good  by." 

:<  Thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kindness  to  a  poor  hermit,  —  a 
hermit  broken-hearted,  and  can't  work." 

I  hurried  off  to  escape  a  longer  outpouring  of  gratitude  ; 
but  just  before  I  passed  from  his  line  of  vision  I  glanced  back 
over  my  shoulder.  There  he  was,  peeping  at  the  end  of  the 
folded  bill  to  see  its  value,  and  I  could  have  sworn  his 
mouth  curved  into  a  silent  laugh.  Had  I  been  imposed  on  ? 
Sweet  Charity,  forbid ! 


PART     THE   SECOND. 

CENTRAL  PARK  has  a  peculiar  and  matchless  charm  on  the 
Fourth  of  July ;  for  there,  and  there  only,  can  the  city  es- 
cape the  flash  and  bang  everywhere  else  prevalent  that  day. 
Blessed  be  the  Park  commissioners  for  their  anti-Chinese  and 
possibly  unpatriotic,  but  decidedly  sensible  and  humane,  regu- 
lation, forbiddipg  fire-crackers  in  the  territory  under  their 
sway  !  For  that  reason,  if  for  no  other,  I  betook  myself  to 
the  Park,  July  the  Fourth,  1872.  My  hermit  had  not  been 
much  in  my  mind  since  that  odd  adventure  with  him,  other 
persons  and  other  events  having  quite  jogged  him  aside.  But 
when  I  entered  the  Park  I  could  not  help  heading  towards 


MY   HERMIT.  47 

the  Grotto  Bridge  as  an  objective  point,  and  wondering  if  I 
should  meet  him  there  or  thereabout. 

The  Park,  in  its  lower  part,  was  full  of  people,  come  like 
myself  for  a  little  surcease  from  work,  and  to  avoid  the  pyro- 
technic nuisance  of  a  day  in  town.  Women,  children,  and 
old  persons,  besides  quiet-loving  folk  of  my  sort,  occupied  the 
seats,  lined  the  bridges,  sailed  on  the  lakes,  threw  showers  of 
crumbs  to  the  pampered  swans,  lounged,  flirted,  and  chattered 
in  the  bright  sunshine  and  the  very  ecstasy  of  carelessness. 
There  was  a  delightful  absence  of  whooping  small  boys.  They 
were  all  adding?  to  the  uproar  in  the  city,  faint  echoes  of 
which  I  could  imagine  to  reach  me. 

Stalking  over  that  populous  region  rapidly,  I  soon  struck 
into  the  less  traversed  ways,  and  then  kept  a  bright  lookout 
for  my  hermit.  I  visited  each  nook  and  by-path  where  I 
had  been  accustomed  to  see  him,  and  finally  passed  beneath 
the  Grotto  Bridge,  confidently  expecting  to  find  him  there. 
But  no  Winterbottom  !  "  What  a  fool !  "  said  I  to  myself. 
"  He 's  your  debtor  now,  and  of  course  invisible."  Then  I 
laughed  as  the  droll  idea  occurred  to  me  that  Winterbottom 
had  been  watching  me  all  this  time  from  some  neighboring 
elevation,  knowing  me  to  be  in  search  of  him  and  chuckling 
over  my  discomfiture.  "  My  hermit  no  longer,"  thought  I ; 
"  not  even  a  proprietary  interest."  So  musing,  I  strolled  into 
the  open  path,  and,  under  the  impression  that  he  might  be 
on  the  watch  for  me  somewhere  about,  I  looked  across  the 
Loch  to  the  wooded  hill.  Sure  enough  there  my  good 
eyesight  detected  the  sturdy  figure  of  my  man  at  an  open- 
ing in  the  bushes.  I  made  out  his  identity  all  the  more 
easily  because  he  turned  away  at  once  and  disappeared. 


48  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

I  started  after  him  in  my  fastest  walk,  which  soon  be- 
came a  run.  Crossing  the  little  foot-bridge  over  the  Loch, 
I  bounded  up  the  hillside,  and  soon  reached  a  spot  near 
which  I  had  seen  him  ;  but  he  was  nowhere  in  sight.  At 
that  point  two  paths  diverged,  but  I  knew  that  they  led 
by  winding  ways  to  the  same  place  ;  so  I  paused  not,  but 
trotted  along,  keeping  a  close  lookout  to  right  and  left 
among  the  trees  and  bushes.  After  going  at  a  rapid  pace 
for  about  half  a  mile,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  hermit 
darting  into  a  clump  of  underbrush. 

"  Hallo,  Winterbottom ! "  said  I  ;    "I  was  looking  for  you." 

The  man  made  another  forward  jump,  and  then  stopped. 
I  knew  why  he  checked  himself  when  I  glanced  beyond  the 
bushes  and  saw  a  gray-coated  Park  policeman,  quietly  patrol- 
ling the  walk  on  the  other  side.  In  another  moment  Win- 
terbottom would  have  been  in  his  arms. 

"  Out  of  that  there,"  cried  the  officer,  who  had  heard 
the  noise  in  the  bushes.  "  You  must  stick  to  the  walk, 
Fourth  o'  July  or  no  Fourth."  The  policeman  '  said  this 
good-naturedly,  as  one  who  must  be  indulgent  to  his  fel- 
low-citizens on  the  great  holiday. 

"  Beg  pardin,  sir.  All  right,"  answered  Winterbottom,  and 
he  softly  stepped  out  into  the  path  where  I  stood.  I  never 
saw  a  man  so  changed.  He  was  pale  with  fright  or  des- 
peration, —  the  latter  I  thought,  as  I  marked  his  flashing 
eyes.  He  had  one  hand  in  a  coat-pocket,  and  I  could  not 
resist  the  impression,  as  I  saw  the  outline  of  his  knuckles 
through  the  cloth,  that  that  hand  grasped  a  knife  or  pistol. 
His  whole  aspect  was  of  one  at  bay  and  determined  to 
sell  his  life  or  liberty  dearly.  His  rough  bearded  face, 


MX  HERMIT.  49 

half-open  mouth,  showing  two  rows  of  glittering  teeth,  his 
square  shoulders  and  broad  chest  and  great  girth  of  loins, 
made  him  a  formidable  animal.  I  could  hardly  conceive 
that  the  meek  and  pusillanimous  creature  of  his  own  story 
could  be  transformed  into  such  a  fierce-looking  ruffian. 

"  Wot  are  yer  chasm'  me  fer  ?  Wot  der  yer  want  ? "  he 
muttered,  as  his  eyes  blazed  upon  me,  and  still  keeping  his 
hand  in  his  pocket.  It  was  the  worst  case  of  debtor  vs. 
creditor  that  I  ever  saw. 

"I  want  nothing,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  "only  to 'see  you 
and  ask  how  you  are  getting  on.  Sit  down  here  and  take 
a  smoke.  I  want  company."  This  I  said  as  amiably  as 
possible,  and  I  am  sure  I  looked  kindly  at  him,  for  I  meant 
not  otherwise. 

His  set  face  relaxed  and  he  took  his  hand  out  of  his 
pocket.  But  his  glittering  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  my  face. 
I  produced  the  calumet,  but  to  my  surprise  he  declined  it. 

"  Why  did  you  avoid  me  ?  "  said  I,  chidingly,  as  one  might 
be  allowed  to  upbraid  one's  own  hermit. 

"  Did  n't  know  't  was  you.  Thought  't  was  a  gray-coat 
arter  me,  fer  sleepin'  in  the  Park." 

I  knew  Winterbottom  was  lying  to  me,  and  my  steady, 
reproving  gaze  spoke  as  much,  for  his  eyes  dropped. 

I  paused  a  moment,  thinking  what  to  say  to  this  extraordi- 
nary person,  when  he  broke  in  with, — 

"Yer  say  yer  want  company.  Well,  I  don't  want  none. 
Wot 's  the  use  o'  bein'  a  hermit  if  yer  can't  be  alone  by 
yerself?" 

This  was  logic  undeniably,  and  it  puzzled  me  to  answer 
him;  and  before  I  could  do  so,  Winterbottom  growled  out, 


$0  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

"  Good  mornin',  sir.  I  'm  off  this  'ere  way."  And  he  pushed  by 
me  and  strode  down  the  path  over  which  I  had  chased  him. 

I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  cross  with  the  poor 
outcast.  "  Good  by,"  said  I,  quietly ;  "  and  forever,"  I  added  to 
myself,  for  I  knew  that  after  this  my  hermit  and  I  would  not 
be  on  speaking  terms. 

Turning  to  resume  my  walk  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that 
taken  by  Winterbottom,  I  saw  for  the  first  time  the  figure  of 
a  woman,  standing  on  a  slight  rise  or  crown  of  ground  about 
thirty  yards  from  me.  She  was  looking  intently  at  me  ;  and 
her  face  wore  a  startled  expression.  Then  she  strained  her 
eyes  towards  the  fast-vanishing  form  of  the  hermit,  who  in  a 
second  more  was  out  of  sight.  As  I  neared  this  woman,  I 
saw  two  tidily  dressed  little  boys  playing  together  a  short  dis- 
tance from  her.  "  Mamma,  mamma,"  one  of  them  called. 
"In  a  moment,  dear,"  said  she. 

"  May  I  speak  a  word  with  you,  sir  ? "  she  said  timidly,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Certainly,  madam,"  in  a  tone  which  encouraged  her  to 
proceed  ;  at  least,  I  meant  that  it  should. 

A  fragile  woman,  with  a  thin,  pale  face,  on  which  care  and 
anxiety  were  deeply  stamped ;  poorly  but  neatly  dressed ; 
looking  like  a  seamstress  fighting  her  solitary,  hard  battle,  to 
keep  herself  and  children  alive  ;  a  poor,  half-broken,  suppli- 
cating creature,  touching  the  pity  of  every  human  heart ;  —  such 
was  my  rapidly  formed  estimate. 

Her  voice  trembled  and  her  whole  frame  vibrated  as  she 
made  an  effort  to  control  herself.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  sir," 
said  she;  "do  you  know  that  man  you  were  speaking  with? 
I  know  him,  but  I  fear  you  do  not." 


MY   HERMIT.  51 

"Well,  no,  madam,  I  cannot  exactly  say  that  I  know  him. 
He  is  a  queer  sort  of  a  fellow,  —  something  of  a  hermit,  as 
he  calls  himself.  I  stumbled  across  him  the  other  day.  If 
you  know  him,  please  tell  me  who  he  is." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  heaving  a  deep  sigh  ;  "  I  do  know  him  to  my 
cost.  Alas !  I  am  his  wife." 

I  cannot  say  I  was  taken  aback  by  this  revelation,  for  when 
she  first  accosted  me,  I  had  guessed  at  the  truth.  But  the 
coincidence  of  meeting  her  so  near  the  spot  where  I  had  just 
parted  from  the  hermit  did  surprise  me. 

I  told  her  I  was  glad  to  meet  her,  that  I  feared  that 
man  had  attempted  to  deceive  me,  that  now  I  should  know 
the  truth,  with  other  reassuring  phrases.  "Take  a  seat,  Mrs. 
Winterbottom,"  said  I,  motioning  to  one  that  stood  invitingly 
by,  for  I  saw  that  the  poor  woman,  after  the  long  holiday 
walk  she  had  made  with  her  little  children,  must  be  tired. 

"Winterbottom,"  she  exclaimed;   "that  is  not  my  name!" 

"  And  you  are  his  wife  ? " 

"  I  have  my  marriage  certificate,  and  that  man,  that  bad 
man's  name  is  Bagfield." 

"  Another  question,  Mrs.  Bagfield  ;  have  you  a  daughter 
Arabella?" 

"  Arabella  !  No !  I  have  two  little  boys,  —  no  more  chil- 
dren,—  and  there  they  are." 

"  One  question  more."  (This  was  a  test  one.)  "  Do  you 
know  a  man  named  Juggins  ? " 

"Juggins?  Juggins?  I  never  heard  of  him  before."  The 
candor  of  her  sad  face  told  me  she  was  uttering  no  falsehood. 
I  had  narrowly  escaped  being  duped  by  a  clever  rascal. 

"  This  is  a  very  curious  case,"  said  I.      "  Pray  tell  me  why 


52  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

your  husband  —  if  that  is  he  —  is  playing  hide-and-seek  in 
the  Park.  He  sleeps  here  nights." 

"  Why,  sir,  he  escaped  from  Sing  Sing  about  a  month  ago,  — 
the  paper  said,  —  and  he  must  be  keeping  out  of  sight  of  the 
regular  police  up  here." 

"  Whew !  And  that 's  my  hermit,  and  his  yarn  to  me  was 
a  hermit's  sell,  I  may  say."  And  I  could  not  repress  a  wild 
laugh  at  the  absurdity  of  the  contrast  forced  upon  my  mind, 
—  a  melodramatic  anchorite  changed  into  a  vulgar  jail-bird! 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Bagfield,"  said  I,  respectfully,  as  the  suf- 
fering creature  looked  at  me,  astonished.  "  But  that  humbug, 
that  lying  thief,  —  excuse  me  for  my  warmth,  for  he  is  your 
husband  —  " 

"  No  excuse  needed,  sir.  As  you  say,  he  is  a  liar  and  a 
thief,  and  he  is  my  husband,  though  no  more  but  in  name." 
I  had  thought  she  would  have  burst  out  crying  a  minute  be- 
fore;  but  now  her  eyes  flashed  indignation,  and,  if  I  mistook 
not,  revenge. 

"That  fellow,"  I  continued,  "tried  to  swindle  me  out  of 
money  to  help  rob  you  of  your  only  daughter,  —  your  Arabella, 
a  girl  of  twelve  years  who  loved  her  pa,  and  would  go  to  the 
end  of  the  world  with  him.  I  am  laughing  at  myself,  madam  ; 
but  you  I  pity  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart."  Then  I  briefly 
related  to  her  the  substance  of  my  conversation  with  the 
pseudo-hermit.  She  listened  attentively,  only  interrupting  me 
with  exclamations,  —  "  The  liar  !  "  "  The  thief!  "  "  The  traitor  !  " 
and  the  like. 

"  He  must  be  arrested  and  sent  back  to  prison,"  she  said, 
firmly.  Now  I  had  finished  my  narrative,  I  had  waited  to 
hear  her  opinion  on  that  point,  before  offering  my  own. 


MY   HERMIT.  53 

"  I  agree  with  you,  madam,"  said  I.  "  It  is  hard  enough 
to  obtain  the  conviction  and  punishment  of  desperadoes  in 
this  city,  and  escape  from  prison  must  not  be  made  easy 
for  them.  Are  you  in  fear  of  this  man  if  he  is  allowed  to 
run  loose  ? " 

"  I  am  afraid  of  him  very  much,  sir.  He  thinks  I  caused 
his  arrest,  though  God  knows  I  did  not.  I  would  have 
shielded  him  if  I  could  ;  but  not  if  I  had  known,  as  I  now 
do,  that  he  was  spending  his  time  and  money  on  another 
woman,  and  neglecting  me.  That  I  will  never  forgive  him 
for."  And  she  stamped  her  foot  fiercely  on  the  ground.  "  He 
was  a  decent  man  once,  sir,  but  that  was  long  ago.  Then 
he  got  into  bad  ways,  —  through  that  woman,  I  suppose.  He 
used  to  be  away  from  me  all  night,  and  then  he  would  come 
home  and  abuse  me  and  those  little  children.  Sometimes 
he  showed  me  money,  but  none  .of  it  was  for  me ;  and  I 
should  'a'  starved,  sir,  and  my  children  too,  if  some  good 
friends  had  not  given  me  work.  I  wondered  how  he  got  his 
money;  for  he  had  quit  his  trade,  and  he  wasn't  earning 
anything  honestly.  One  day  I  found  out ;  for  a  policeman  came 
to  the  house  and  arrested  him.  He  had  committed  a  bur- 
glary, they  said,  and  almost  killed  a  man.  Bad  as  he  was,  sir, 
he  was  my  husband,  and  it  nigh  broke  my  heart  to  think  he 
should  go  to  prison.  But  nothing  I  could  do  could  save  him. 
The  proofs  were  too  strong,  and  he  was  found  guilty,  and  was 
sent  up  to  Sing  Sing  for  twenty  years.  I  saw  him  the  morn- 
ing they  took  him  away,  and  he  called  me  bad  names,  and 
said  he  would  kill  me  when  he  got  out,  for  I  had  betrayed 
him.  I  forgave  him  those  cruel  words  then,  but  not  after- 
wards, when  I  found  out  there  was  another  woman  at  the 


54  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

bottom  of  the  whole  trouble.  Then  I  was  glad  he  was  locked 
up  for  twenty  years;  and  he  must  go  back  there,  —  he  must 
go  back !  It  was  two  years  ago,  sir,  that  he  was  sentenced. 
I  saw,  by  the  papers,  he  had  escaped  last  month,  and  there 
was  a  reward  offered  for  him.  The  detectives  have  been 
watching  round  my  lodgings,  thinking  he  might  come  there. 
But  he  knew  too  much;  he  is  a  very  cunning  man,  sir" 
(I  nodded  affirmatively),  "and  keeps  away,  though  I  believe,  if 
he  dared,  he  would  come  down  some  night  and  kill  me.  I  say, 
sir,  he  must  go  back,  and  I  will  tell  the  police  about  him. 
It 's  my  duty,  sir." 

There  was  one  weak  point  in  this  case  against  Winter- 
bottom  alias  Bagfield.  The  woman  might  be  mistaken  in 
his  identity,  though  she  said  she  could  swear  to  him  posi- 
tively. It  was  somewhat  singular,  too,  that  he  should  have 
chosen  for  a  hiding-place  a  resort  as  public  as  the  Central 
Park.  I  admitted  to  myself  that  under  the  circumstances  it 
was  the  place  —  that  is,  the  north  end  of  the  grounds  — 
where  he  would  be  least  likely  to  be  disturbed  by  the  regular 
city  police ;  but  I  deemed  it  remarkable  that  the  escaped  con- 
vict should  have  had  the  shrewdness  to  select  it.  He  must 
be  a  cunning  fox,  truly.  I  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do. 

"Madam,"  said  I,  respectfully,  "I  will  see  to  this  matter. 
Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy  ;  for  if  that  man  is  Bagfield, 
he  shall  be  sent  back  to  Sing  Sing  in  twenty-four  hours, — 
sure,  —  and  locked  up  safe  for  the  rest  of  his  term,  let  us 
hope.  Leave  the  Park  at  once  with  your  children,  and  go 
home,  and  trust  everything  to  me."  I  asked  for  her  address, 
and  made  a  note  of  it,  promising  that  she  should  hear  of  what 
I  had  done  in  due  time. 


MY   HERMIT.  55 

She  thanked  me  most  fervently  and  took  my  advice  with- 
out delay.  Not  a  moment  should  be  lost,  if  Winterbottom, 
or  Bagfield,  was  to  be  caught.  I  had  looked  about  me  during 
this  strange  interview  with  the  woman  who  claimed  to  be  his 
wife,  thinking  that  my  hermit  might  be  watching  us  in  the 
distance  ;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  him.  Bidding  her  to  keep 
up  courage  and  hope  for  the  best,  and  enjoining  her  again 
to  return  home  immediately  and  await  further  news,  I  hur- 
ried on  ahead  to  a  police  station  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Park. 
There  I  knew  correct  and  full  information  relating  to  the  case 
could  be  obtained. 

My  mission  was  soon  discharged.  The  Captaku  of  Police 
heard  my  story,  and  as  soon  as  I  came  to  the  name  of  Bag- 
field,  he  smiled  as  if  in  recognition  of  it.  Then  he  showed 
me  a  handbill  which  had  been  issued  and  distributed  at  all 
the  station-houses,  offering  a  reward  for  the  arrest  of  Thomas 
Bagfield,  alias  "Tommy  the  Slouch,"  who  had  escaped  from 
Sing  Sing.  The  fellow's  person  was  sufficiently  described. 
It  was  a  pen-portrait  of  my  hermit,  saving  the  stubby  whis- 
kers grown  in  his  brief  absence  from  prison.  He  had  made 
his  escape  through  a  drain,  and  gained  the  woods  before  the 
loss  was  discovered.  An  accomplice  had  there  supplied  him 
with  a  change  of  clothes.  There  was  an  active  pursuit,  but 
the  hunted  had  a  good  hour's  start,  and  by  wonderful  luck 
and  craft  had  escaped  capture,  and  slowly  worked  his  way 
to  the  city. 

The  worthy  Captain  knew  much  more  of  Bagfield's  antece- 
dents than  I  could  impart  to  him.  He  was  a  very  desperate 
character,  though,  as  the  Captain  said,  "only  an  amatoor," 
—  not  one  of  those  gifted  beings,  the  professionals  in  crime. 


56  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

He  had  done  a  stroke  or  two  in  the  confidence  line,  for  which 
I  thought  him  well  fitted  ;  but  his  crowning  achievements  were 
burglaries.  He  was  suspected  of  having  broken  into  three 
or  four  private  houses,  and  of  having  stabbed  (but  not  fatally) 
a  policeman  in  attempting  to  escape.  In  committing  the  par- 
ticular burglary  for  which  he  was  sentenced  to  Sing  Sing, 
he  had  struck  down  and  severely  injured  the  owner  of  the 
house  with  a  slung-shot.  "  One  of  the  Worst  and  most 
dangerous  men  I  ever  knew,"  added  the  Captain,  with  the 
cautious  qualification,  "for  an  amatoor." 

"Is  it  not  singular,"  I  asked,  "that  he  should  come  to 
the  city  to  hide?" 

"They  all  do,"  he  explained.  "Sooner  or  later  we  catch 
'em  —  that  is,  most  of  'em  —  here.  But  it  was  a  shrewd 
dodge  in  the  fellow  to  hide  himself  in  the  Park.  To  my 
knowledge,  the  detectives  have  been  watching  his  wife's  house 
and  his  old  hanging-out  places  ever  since  he  got  loose.  It 's 
been  a  point  of  honor  to  bag  him,  you  see,  because  he  stabbed 

Policeman  Q .      But  they  never  thought  of  looking  in  the 

Park  for  him  ;  and  by  playing  his  game  fine  I  can  see  how 
he  might  have  hung  round  there  a  long  time,  till  he 
thought  the  hunt  for  him  was  given  up  and  he  could  cut 
away  to  some  other  city ;  but  he  'd  have  been  sure  to  come 
back  here  at  last.  If  you  'd  been  fool  enough  —  I  beg  par- 
don for  saying  it  —  to  give  him  the  money  he  asked  for,  he'd 
pushed  before  this,  perhaps."  The  oddity  of  Mr.  Bagfield's 
mixed  diet  —  pickles,  crackers,  and  so  forth  —  the  Captain 
clearly  explained  on  the  theory  that  he  had  broken  into  some 
restaurant  near  the  Park  and  stolen  those  miscellaneous  edi- 
bles,-or  he  might  have  taken  the  risk  of  foraging  occasionally 


MY   HERMIT.  57 

among  the  free  lunches  in  the  neighborhood,  being  very  care- 
ful to  avoid  the  police.  Finally,  the  Captain  promised  to 
inquire  into  Mrs.  Bagfield's  circumstances,  and  if  she  was  as 
respectable  and  deserving  of  confidence  as  I  took  her  to  be, 
he  would  see  that  the  reward  was  sent  to  her,  if  paid  to  any- 
body. No  one  else  could  claim  it,  —  certainly  not  the  police, 
who  would  be  only  too  glad  to  pay  something  themselves  for 
the  pleasure  of  arresting  and  returning  to  Sing  Sing  the  man 
who  was  believed  to  have  stabbed  Officer  Q . 

Before  the  Captain  had  finished  his  remarks  he  had  called 
two  of  his  men,  and  they  had  started  forth  in  citizen's  dress 
in  quest  of  the  runaway. 

I  had  transacted  my  part  of  this  unpleasant  but  necessary 
business,  and  did  not  care  to  wait  and  confront  my  hermit  in 
his  deserved  misfortune,  if  they  caught  him.  So  I  with- 
drew, having  made  arrangements  with  the  Captain  to  learn 
the  sequel  promptly. 

Within  half  an  hour  from  that  time  Bagfield  was  surprised 
and  seized  in  the  Park,  not  far  from  the  Grotto  Bridge.  He 
was  evidently  all  unsuspicious  of .  his  peril  ;  but  when  the 
officers  pounced  upon  him,  these  words  burst  from  his  lips 
with  a  curse :  "  Serves  me  right  for  talking  with  that  feller 
t'  other  day."  He  was  armed  with  an  ugly  looking  knife,  and 
attempted  to  stab  one  of  his  captors,  but  they  overpowered 
him.  That  very  night  he  was  returned  in  safety  to  Sing 
Sing. 

The  good  Captain's  inquiries  proved  that  Mrs.  Bagfield  was 
worthy  of  all  confidence  and  kindness ;  and  the  reward  was 
paid  over  to  her  by  the  practice  of  a  little  diplomacy  excusa- 
ble under  the  circumstances.  She  was  made  to  believe*  that 


58  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

it  was  a  testimony  of  sympathy  from  a  friend  who  desired  to 
be  unknown.  Soon  after  I  heard  from  the  Captain  that  she 
had  moved  away  with  her  children  to  the  West,  there  to 
begin  life  anew  under  an  assumed  name,  and  rear  her  little 
ones  in  ignorance  of  their  degraded  father.  God  help  her ! 


Miss  TS'EU. 


MISS     TS'E  U: 

A    TEA-TASTER'S  STORY. 
BY   EDWARD   GREEY. 

(SUNG-TIE.) 

WAS  listlessly  watching  a  party  of  maskers,  who 
were  posturing  for  the  amusement  of  some,  to  me  un- 
seen, ladies,  in  the  court-yard  beneath  the  windows  of 
the  apartment  in  which  I  was  nominally  a  prisoner," 
said  the  Tea-taster,  "  when  I  heard  the  pit-a-pat  of  a 
small-footed  lady  in  the  corridor  leading  to  my  room. 

"  My  curiosity  being  excited,  I  turned  from  the  window 
and  peered  down  the  passage,  but,  seeing  the  place  quite  de- 
serted, thought  no  more  of  the  circumstance,  and,  throwing 
myself  upon  my  matted  couch,  began  to  ponder  over  my  posi- 
tion. Any  hinderance  to  progress  in  travel  is  annoying,  but 
mine  was  particularly  so.  I  had  been  despatched  by  my 
house  to  our  Chinese  agents  in  Fokeen,  with  orders  to  buy  up 
every  picul  of  the  new  crop  of  black  teas  harvested  in  that 
district,  arid  my  chop,  or  passport,  directed  all  officials  to  see 
that  I  was  not  delayed  or  molested  by  turbulent  spirits  ;  yet 
His  Excellency,  Kee-Foo,  Vice-Lieutenant-Governor  of  Min 
Shau-u,  had  taken  the  responsibility  of  placing  me  under 
friendly  arrest,  and  had  confined  me  in  one  of  the  rooms  of 
his  Ya-mun,  ostensibly  on  the  pretence  of  protecting  me  from 


62  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

the  rioters.  It  is  true  that  the  Chinese  are  somewhat  demon- 
strative during  the  time  of  their  New-Year  festivities,  but  the 
fact  was,  a  rival  house  in  Hong  Kong  had  despatched  an 
agent  with  a  heavy  bribe  to  Mr.  Kee-Foo,  and  the  latter  gen- 
tleman knew  full  well  that,  ere  I  reached  the  Woo-e  Hill,  my 
competitor  would  have  purchased  every  picul  of  tea  in  the 
district.  In  vain  I  wrote  to  the  unmoved  official  "that  my 
orders  were  to  proceed  without  delay " ;  but  he  merely  pen- 
cilled, "  Impossible ;  the  people  are  in  arms,  and  I  am  respon- 
sible for  your  head,"  across  my  memorials,  and  I  was  forced 
to  submit.  True,  I  could  not  complain  of  my  accommoda- 
tions, and,  the  ladies  of  the  house  were  evidently  interested  in 
my  fate,  judging  by  the  presents  of  fruit  and  flowers  I 
received  morning  and  night ;  but  since  the  moment  that  I 
was  introduced  to  my  prison  I  had  only  seen  one  person,  the 
servant  who  waited  upon  me,  and  he  was  a  deaf-mute. 

Opposite  to  the  wing  in  which  my  room  was  situated  was 
a  portion  of  the  palace  that  was  always  kept  closely  screened. 
From  the  tone  of  the  voices  which  proceeded  from  this  part 
of  the  Ya-mun  whenever  the  maskers  did  anything  particu- 
larly amusing,  I  concluded  that  the  ladies'  apartments  were 
situated  there,  and  my  surmise  proved  to  be  correct. 

I  was  wishing  that  some  one  would  take  pity  upon  me 
and  pay  me  a.  visit,  when  I  again  heard  the  pattering  noise 
in  the  corridor.  Cautiously  rising,  I  crept  to  the  open  door, 
when  I  beheld  a  sight  which  at  once  astonished  and  delighted 
me,  for  there,  laughing  like  a  wayward  child,  just  escaped 
from  its  nurse,  stood  a  lovely  girl  about  sixteen  years  old. 

She  was  of  medium  height,  slender  as  a  bamboo  shoot, 
with  an  exquisitely  formed  oval  face,  straight  nose,  rosebud 


MISS    TS'EU:    A    TEA-TASTER'S    STORY.  63 

mouth,  and  dark,  full,  liquid  eyes,  that  pierced  your  very 
soul  in  their  innocent  earnestness ;  her  charming  features 
being  crowned  with  a  profusion  of  long,  raven  hair  worn  en 
queue.  Her  lower  dresses  were  of  colored  satin ;  each  gar- 
ment shorter  than  the  one  beneath,  the  outer  being  pro- 
fusely embroidered  with  golden  chrysanthemums,  and  her 
upper  robes,  of  soft  tinted  crepe,  were  covered  by  a  long 
jacket  of  pale  blue  brocade,  so  thickly  embroidered  as  to 
almost  hide  the  beautiful  fabric.  The  nails  of  her  tiny,  dim- 
pled hands  were  each  three  inches  in  length,  and  cased  in 
jewelled  sheaths,  while  her  doll-like  shoes  shone  from  beneath 
her  robes  like  golden  foot-notes  on  an  illuminated  manuscript 

Instead  of  screaming  or  fainting,  this  charming  vision,  with 
imperturbable  comic  seriousness  and  grace,  opened  her  coral 
lips  and  inquired,  in  Chinese, — 

"  Are  you  the  honorable   Fankwei  ?  " 

As  this  meant,  "  Are  you  the  foreign  white  devil  ? "  I  felt 
exceedingly  amused,  and  could  hardly  retain  my  self-posses- 
sion as  I  ^replied, — 

"Met  jin*  I  am  that  humble,  never-to-be-too-much-exe- 
crated animal ! " 

Advancing,  at  first  somewhat  timidly,  yet  gradually,  as- 
sured by  my  respectful  manner,  and  growing  more  confident 
as  she  neared  me,  she  gazed  innocently  into  my  eyes  and 
faltered,  — 

"  Tell  me  all  about  —  yourself !" 

This  was  said  so  nai'vely  that  I  was  completely  conquered, 
and,  although  I  knew  it  was  totally  contrary  to  Chinese  eti- 
quette, I  placed  my  arm  around  her  lithe  form  and  drew  her 

*  Beautiful  lady. 


64  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

towards  me.  Instead  of  repelling  my  advance,  she  nestled 
closer  and,  looking  archly  *into  my  face,  said, — 

"There  was  a  rent  in  the  mat  which  covers  our  window, 
and,  my  mother  being  below  amusing  herself  by  looking  at 
the  maskers,  —  I  —  I  came  here  !  Now  tell  me  about  your- 
self. Do  you  eat  human  flesh  ?  —  No  !  " 

"  Certainly  not ! "  I  quickly  replied.  "  We  are  not  tigers, 
as  they  represent  us  to  you,  nor  do  we  treat  our  ladies  as 
your  men  do  theirs.  In  my  country,  America,  women  rule 
everything,  and  we  almost  worship  them  when  they  are  as 
pretty  as  yourself!" 

"  Worship  them  !  "    she  queried  ;    "  how  is  that  possible  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  are  their  slaves,  and  do  their  bidding  !  Tell  me 
your  name,  mei  jin  !  " 

Opening  her  bright  eyes,  and  laughing  at  me  with  them, 
she  slyly  answered  :  — 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you  my  name  ?  When  you  go  back 
to  Mee-lee-kee  you  forget  it ! " 

I  protested  "that  as  long  as  memory  held,"  etc.,  etc.,  I 
should  never  forget  her,  and  that  I  was  really  and  truly  in 
love  with  her!  Not  having  a  Chinese  term  by  which  to 
describe  what  we  call  love,  I  used  the  word  worship,  when 
she  solemnly  shook  her  head,  saying, — 

"  To  the  gods,  to  your  parents,  to  the  spirits  of  your  ances- 
tors, to  your  superiors,  you  burn  incense  and  pay  worship, 
but  not  to  young  girls!  O  you  seen  jin  *  I  would  like  to  go 
to.  Mee-lee-kee  !  " 

The  look  and  the  proximity  of  her  cherry  lips  completed 
it,  and  I  whispered*  in  English,  —  for  they  never  use  the  salute 

*  A  sort  of  Chinese  angel. 


MISS    TS'EU:    A    TEA-TASTER'S    STORY.  65 

in    China,    and   consequently   have   no   word    to    express    the 
action,  —  • 

"  Kiss  me,  ching  neu  !  " 

"  Ke-e-es  ? "   she  queried. 

"  Yes,  —  kiss  me ! "  I  cried,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word. 

She  sprang  from  my  arms  like  a  frightened  child  and  ran 
from  the  Apartment.  Fearing  that  I  had  offended  her,  I  was 
about  to  follow  and  endeavor  to  explain  her  mistake,  when 
she  stole  softly  into  the  room,  and,  standing  before  me, 
gently  clicked  her  lips,  as  though  she  had  partaken  of 
something  delicious. 

"Are  you  angry?"    I  asked. 

"  For  what  did  you  do  that  ? "  she  gravely  inquired.  "  I 
feared  that  after  all  you  were  a  man-eater,  but  when  I  found 
that  —  I  was  not  injured  —  I  thought  you  only  did  it  to  try 
my  courage ! " 

"  If  you  tell  me  your  name,  I  will  explain  the  mystery  ! "  I 
replied. 

.    "My  worthless  name  is   Ts'eu ! "    she   demurely   said.      "It 
is  an  odious  appellation  ! " 

As  Ts'eu  means,  literally,  "  a  star,"  I  told  her  that  she  had 
a  charming  name. 

"If  you  like  it  so  much,  tell  me  about  the  rite  of  ke-e-es 
me ! "  she  shyly  observed  ;  adding,  "  Ke-e-es-me  !  ke-e-es- 
me!" 

"  It  is  thus  performed,  little  Ts'eu !  In  my  country,  when 
a  man  wishes  to  show  how  much  he  worships  the  lady  of  his 
choice,  he  places  his  arm  around  her,  —  thus,  —  she  looks  up 

*  Innocent  one. 


66  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

at  him, — just  as  you  are  doing  at  me  now,  —  you  darling, — 
then  he  pouts  his  lips,  —  as  I  So  mine,  —  and  you  are  doing 
yours,  —  and  he  presses  hers,  —  so  —  !  That  is  the  American 
rite  of  kissing  !  " 

Miss  Ts'eu  received  the  fervent  tribute  with  evident  de- 
light, but  immediately  after  sobered  down,  and,  looking  sor- 
rowfully at  me,  pleaded:  — 

"  O  seen  jin,  I  do  not  quite  understand  !  I  cannot  learn 
such  a  difficult  rite  in  one  lesson ! " 

I  again  pressed  her  sweet  lips,  and  this  time  the  kiss  was 
returned ;  however,  the  pause  which  succeeded  the  perform- 
ance did  not  augur  a  repetition  of  the  exercise,  but  after  a  few 
moments  she  seemed  to  awaken  from  her  revery  and  mur- 
mured, — 

"Tell  me  again  what  you  call  that?" 

"Kissing,  — little  Ts'eu!" 

"  We  have  no  such  ceremony  in  our  Book  of  Rites !  We 
have  no  name  for  such  an  act !  For  thousands  of  periods 
we  poor  Chinese  women  have  been  ignorant  of  this  delight- 
ful rite !  —  O  seen  jin,  teach  me,  that  I  may  become  perfect 
in  this!" 

I  repeated  the  charming  task,  but  soon  in  magnetic  tender- 
ness of  expression  and  delicate  sweetness  my  pupil  became 
my  teacher.  We  felt  like  children  stealing  honey.  After 
some  moments  Miss  Ts'eu  looked  slyly  up,  and,  quoting  from 
an  ancient  song,  chanted, — 

"  Jo  lew  ying  fung"* 

"  That  is  what  /  call  KE-E-ESING  ! "   she  added  ;   then,  after 

*  "The  delicate  willow  meets  the  breeze." 


MISS    TS'EU:    A    TEA-TASTER'S    STORY. 


67 


glancing  round,  in  order  to  ascertain  if  any  one  were  watch- 
ing, she  gently  raised  her  lips  to  mine  and  whispered, — 
"  Ke-e-es  me  some  more,  seen  jin  Mee-lee-kee !  " 
The  sound  of  her  mamma's  voice  roused  us  from  our  dream 
of  happiness,  and,  after  exchanging  one  long,  delicious  salute, 
the  fairy  Ts'eu  vanished  from  my  sight,  thus  ending  her  first 
lesson. 


ANACREONTIC. 


ANACREONTIC. 


BY    CHARLES    GAYLER. 

ILL  the  cup  !     Fill  it  up ! 

I  'm  sad  to-night. 
Let  it  sparkle  clear  and  bright ; 
In  it  let  me  drown  my  pain. 
Fill  it  up  !     Again  !     Again  ! 

I  'm  sad  to-night.     Heigho  ! 


72  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Fill  the  cup!     Fill  it  up! 

I  'm  gay  to-night. 
Circle  it  with  flowers  of  light, 
Let  me  drink  deep  the  witching  draught, 
My  soul  't  will  to  Elysium  waft. 

I  'm  gay  to-night.     Ha  !   ha 

Fill  the  cup!     Fill  it  up! 

I  love  to-night. 

Wine  to  Love  adds  double  might. 
To  her !    to  her  of  the  laughing  eyes ! 
My  life,  my  joy,  my  paradise  ! 

I  love  to-night.     Heigho  ! 

Fill  the  cup  !     Fill  it  up  ! 

I  weep  to-night. 

My  tears  shall  flow  by  its  ruby  light. 
O'er  the  daisied  sod,  above  the  breast 
Of  my  loved  one,  where  she  lies  at  rest, 

I  weep  to-night.     Heigho  ! 

Fill  the  cup  !     Fill  it  up  ! 

I  die  to-night ! 

Pledge  me  once  more  the  goblet  bright. 
I  come,  bright  spirit!     Ah,  joy  divine! 
Ye  conquer  Death,  O  Love  and  Wine ! 

I  die  to-night.     Ha !   ha  ! 


THE   THEATER. 


THE     THEATER. 

BY   JOHN    ELDERKIN. 


"  THOROUGHLY  RESPECTABLE.  — '  Well,  I  think  you  will  suit  me.    What  is  your 
name  ? ' 

" '  Shakespeare,  ma'am ;  but  no  relation  to  the  play-actor  of  that  name.' "  —  Punch. 


HIS  is  1874,  and  yet  the  ancient  antipathy  to 
the  stage  exists  in  the  full  vigor  of  ignorant  and 
vulgar  prejudice,  with  a  fair  prospect  of  healthy 
survival  until  the  day  of  final  judgment. 

I  once  heard  a  brilliant  writer,  a  critic  of  the 
drama,  assert  in  a  dogmatic  fashion,  that  the  stage  is  a 
sham  from  end  to  end,  that  all  connected  with  it,  from  the 
reigning  star  to  the  meanest  agent  of  the  manager,  know  it 
to  be  a  sham,  and  in  their  business  act  under  the  influence 
of  the  consciousness  that  they  are  perpetrating  a  fraud. 

With  this  as  a  motive,  little,  certainly,  could  be  expected 
of  the  drama,  but  the  charge  is  based  upon  a  shallow  fallacy 
which  would  condemn  all  art.  The  drama,  in  reality,  pos- 
sesses the  noblest  domain  of  art,  the  direct  representation 
of  life.  It  conforms  to  all  the  definitions  of  art.  It  is  the 
result  of  contemplation  and  a  study  of  causes,  and  is  a  pro- 
duction in  which  knowledge  and  creative  power  are  exercised. 
It  yields  in  definiteness,  depth,  subtlety,  form,  variety,  and 
beauty  to  no  other  of  the  arts,  and  in  its  appeal  to  universal 


76  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

humanity  it  excels  them  all.  The  illusions  of  the  stage  have 
a  far  greater  degree  of  realism  than  the  work  of  painter  or 
sculptor,  or  that  of  the  poet  interpreted  from  the  printed 
page.  To  produce  them,  all  the  arts  co-operate,  and,  as  near 
as  may  be,  we  have  the  action  and  passion  wrought  out  with 
the  heightening  effects  of  personality,  poetry,  artistic  adap- 
tation and  sequence,  costume,  scenery,  and  every  available 
accessory  to  give  reality  and  power  to  the  representation. 

It  is  not  the  art  of  the  drama  which  is  the  cause  of  antip- 
athy and  prejudice  to  the  stage,  and  which  has  caused  it  to 
suffer  condemnation  of  the  Church.  Dramatic  art  was  born 
in  the  service  of  religion,  and  so  long  as  it  was  its  exclusive 
servant  we  search  in  vain  for  any  anathematization  of  it.  In 
order  that  this  may  be  clearly  shown,  a  brief  sketch  of  the 
origin  and  connection  of  the  drama  with  religion  is  necessary. 

The  mysteries  of  the  ancients,  according  to  the  best  author- 
ities, were  symbolical  representations  of  religious  history,  and 
Greek  tragedy  in  the  beginning  "was  purely  a  religious  wor-, 
ship  and  solemn  service  for  the  holidays ;  afterwards  it  came 
from  the  temples  to  the  theaters,  admitted  of  a  secular  alloy, 
and  grew  to  some  image  of  the  world  and  human  life."  The 
Hindoo  drama  was  based  on  mythological  narratives,  and 
acted  only  on  solemn  occasions.  In  China  alone,  of  all  na- 
tions possessing  a  national  drama,  the  ancient  civilization 
has  been  so  overlapped  and  obliterated  by  the  changes  and 
deposits  of  succeeding  ages,  that  it  is  impossible  to  trace  an 
original  connection  of  the  drama  with  religious  observance. 
But  the  Roman  drama  and  that  of  modern  Europe  was 
entirely  derived  from  that  of  Greece.  "  It  happened,"  says 
Addison,  in  the  "  Spectator,"  "  that  Cato  once  dropped  into  a 


THE    THEATER.  77 

Roman  theater  when  the  Floralia  were  to  be  represented ; 
and  as  in  that  performance,  which  was  a  kind  of  religious 
ceremony,  there  were  several  indecent  parts  to  be  acted,  the 
people  refused  to  see  them  while  Cato  was  present.  Martial 
on  this  hint  made  the  following  epigram  :  — 

"  Why  dost  thou  come,  great  censor  of  the  age, 
To  see  the  loose  diversions  of  the  stage  ? 
With  awful  countenance  and  brow  severe, 
What,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  dost  thou  here  ? 
See  the  mixed  crowd,  how  giddy,  lewd,  and  vain, — 
Didst  thou  come  in  but  to  go  out  again?" 

The  early  Christian  Fathers  were  nourished  on  Greek  learn- 
ing, and,  witnessing  the  effect  of  the  Greek  drama  upon  the 
multitude,  the  Apollinarii,  A.  D.  370,  turned  particular  histo- 
ries and  portions  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament  into  come- 
dies and  tragedies.  But  previous  to  the  Apollinarii,  fearful 
of  the  influence  of  Greek  literature  and  philosophy  and  the 
attractions  of  the  Greek  drama,  the  Christians  had  denounced 
all  heathen  learning.  Chrysostom,  in  his  homilies,  cries  shame 
that  people  should  listen  to  a  comedian  with  the  same  ears 
that  they  hear  an  evangelical  preacher.  About  A.  D.  378, 
Gregory  Nazianzen,  Patriarch  and  Archbishop  of  Constanti- 
nople, one  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church  and  master  to  the 
celebrated  Jerome,  composed  plays  from  the  .Old  and  New 
Testaments,  which  he  substituted  for  the  plays  of  Sophocles 
and  Euripides  at  Constantinople,  where  the  old  Greek  stage 
had  flourished  until  that  time.  "  If  the  ancient  Greek  tragedy 
was  a  religious  spectacle,  so  the  sacred  dramas  of  Gregory 
Nazianzen  were  formed  on  the  same  model,  and  the  choruses 
were  turned  into  Christian  hymns."  It  was  in  a  tragedy  of 


78  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

this  Patriarch  that  the  Virgin  Mary  was  first  introduced  upon 
the  stage. 

Much  of  the  rapidity  with  which  Christianity  supplanted 
the  old  faiths  of  Paganism  is  due  to  the  facility  with  which 
it  adapted  itself  to  prevailing  tastes  and  habits.  Christian  fes- 
tivals were  instituted  to  supersede  the  old  Bacchanalian  and 
calendary  shows  and  solemnities,  and  with  very  little  change 
in  the  mode  of  celebration.  During  the  whole  of  the  Middle 
Ages  the  acting  of  mysteries  or  plays  representing  the  mira- 
cles of  saints,  circumstances  from  apocryphal  story,  and  sub- 
jects from  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  formed  an  impor- 
tant part  of  every  religious  festival.  These  were  often  of  a 
very  questionable  character,  causing,  even  in  those  super- 
stitious days,  the  criticism  to  be  made  that  there  were  many 
portions  of  the  Scriptures  unsuitable  for  representation  in  a 
play  or  mystery.  But  the  mode  of  celebrating  Christian  fes- 
tivals during  many  centuries  of  the  dark  ages  bore  a  nearer 
resemblance  to  the  Roman  Saturnalia  than  to  anything  so 
intellectual  as  a  mystery ;  and  if  mystery-plays  at  any  time 
declined,  it  was  because  they  were  above  the  level  of  priests 
and  people. 

The  institution  of  pilgrimages  gave  a  great  impetus  to  the 
representation  of  mystery-plays  in  modern  Europe.  The  pil- 
grims were  accustomed  to  travel  in  companies,  and  in  the 
various  cities  through  which  they  passed  took  up  their  stand 
in  the  public  squares,  where  they  sang  and  acted  in  character, 
and  afterward  in  public  theaters,  for  the  instruction  and  diver- 
sion of  the  people. 

In  1264  a  company  was  instituted  at  Rome  to  represent  the 
sufferings  of  Christ  during  Passion  Week.  In  1298,  according 


THE    THEATER.  79 

to  Hone,  the  Passion  was  played  at  Friuli,.in  Italy;  and  the 
same  year  the  clergy  of  Civita  Vecchia  performed  the  play  of 
"Christ,  his  Passion,  Resurrection,  Ascension,  Judgment,  and 
the  Mission  of  the  Holy  Ghost,"  on  the  feast  of  Pentecost ; 
and  again  in  1304,  they  acted  the  "Creation  of  Adam  and 
Eve,"  the  annunciation  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  the  birth  of  Christ, 
and  other  subjects  of  sacred  history.  These  pious  spectacles 
were  so  much  esteemed  that  they  formed  a  part  of  every 
great  occasion,  the  reception  of  princes,  coronations  and 
marriages,  and  extended  to  every  part  of  Europe.  In  France 
these  plays  were  greatly  in  vogue,  and  gradually  from  Scrip- 
tural subjects  came  to  represent  a  great  variety  of  scenes 
drawn  from  contemporary  life  and  profane  history.  This  ulti- 
mately excited  the  jealousy  of  the  Church  and  the  active  hos- 
tility of  the  clergy.  From  being  the  handmaid  the  theater 
became  the  rival  of  the  Church,  and  the  enmity  ensuing,  like 
a  family  quarrel,  appears  all  the  more  embittered  because  of 
the  previous  connection. 

Here  we  have  the  key  to  the  hostility  and  prejudice  against 
the  stage  in  modern  times.  In  a  document  amongst  the 
archives  of  the  Parliament  of  Paris,  it  appears  that  on  the 
iQth  of  December,  1541,  complaint  was  made  against  certain 
persons  who,  having  undertaken  to  represent  the  mysteries  of 
Christ's  Passion,  and  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  "  had  employed 
mean  and  illiterate  fellows  to  act,  who  were  not  cunning  in 
these  matters,  and  to  lengthen  out  their  time  had  interpolated 
aprocryphal  matters,  and  by  introducing  drolls  and  farces  at 
the  beginning  and  end  had  made  the  performance  last  six 
or  seven  months ;  by  means  whereof  nobody  went  to  church, 
charity  grew  cold,  and  immoral  excesses  were  occasioned." 


80  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

The  secularization  of  the  drama  was  very  rapid  from  this 
time,  and  the  stage  shared  in  the  toleration  which  resulted 
from  the  multiplication  of  the  objects  of  general  interest 
to  the  common  people,  and  the  lessening  rigor  of  opinion  in 
matters  of  religious  belief.  But  the  distraction  of  public  atten- 
tion from  the  churches  to  the  theaters,  "  so  that  the  preachers 
finding  nobody  to  hear  them  left  off  preaching,"  and  diminished 
revenues  of  the  Church  resulting  from  their  desertion,  were 
sore  grievances  to  the  clergy.  They  complained  that  the  plays 
"occasioned  junketings  and  extraordinary  expenses  among  the 
common  people,"  and  in  France  the  theaters  were  made  to 
contribute  a  certain  portion  of  their  receipts  to  the  poor,  —  a 
custom  which  obtains  to  the  present  day. 

The  precursors  of  the  regular  drama  in  England  were 
mystery-plays,  and  the  production  of  these  plays  is  closely 
related  to  the  progress  of  the  Reformation.  The  Scriptures 
in  English  had  been  scrupulously  withheld  from  the  people, 
and  the  author  of  the  Chester  Mysteries,  produced  in  1328, 
was  obliged  to  make  three  journeys  to  Rome  before  he  could 
obtain  leave  of  the  Pope  to  produce  them  in  the  English 
tongue.  The  ecclesiastics  were  fearful  that,  once  in  posses- 
sion of  the  Scriptures  in  their  own  Jongue,  the  people  would 
exercise  private  judgment,  and  their  authority  be  diminished ; 
all  of  which  fears  were  justified  by  the  event.  But  the  mystery- 
plays  were  in  the  hands  of  the  priests,  who  "  craftily  used  them 
to  postpone  the  period  of  illumination,  and  to  stigmatize  by 
implication  the  labors  of  Wyckliffe."  In  this  way  plays  became 
associated  in  the  minds  of  the  English  Reformers  with  the 
"  baleful  errors  and  vain  shows  "  of  Papacy,  and  this  led  to  the 
condemnation  and  persecution  of  the  stage  at  a  later  day. 


THE    THEATER.  8l 

After  the  Reformation,  mystery-plays  were  composed  to 
promote  and  secure  the  new  order  of  things  ;  but  Hone  says, 
"  There  is  no  existing  memorial  of  the  representation  of  mys- 
teries in  England  since  the  latter  end  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury." The  English  puppet-show  was  also  a  vehicle  for  the 
production  of  mystery-plays,  but  in  the  adventures  of  the 
Punch  of  the  puppet-show  there  is  a  complete  departure  from 
the  mystery.  Punch  is  always  a  "  sensual,  dissolute,  hardened 
character,  who  beats  his  wife,  disregards  the  advice  of  the 
priest,  knocks  him  down,  and  exhibits  a  thorough  contempt  for 
moral  reputation." 

That  the  attitude  of  Punch  in  the  puppet-show  was  in  a 
measure  that  of  the  early  players  of  the  English  stage,  seems 
to  be  probable  from  the  way  in  which  they  are  characterized  in 
certian  decrees  for  their  regulation ;  but  an  art  which  had 
been  for  so  many  centuries  the  companion  and  servant  of 
religion  had  too  healthy  and  strong  a  constitution  to  be  smoth- 
ered in  the  muck  in  which  it  might  happen  for  the  moment 
to  be  cast.  In  a  night  it  underwent  a  resurrection,  and  in  its 
risen  glory  far  outshone  its  previous  estate.  Under  the  domin- 
ion of  the  Elizabethan  dramatists  the  stage  became  the  rival 
of  the  pulpit  as  an  eloquent  teacher  of  morals  and  the  vehicle 
of  the  most  splendid  literature  given  to  the  world  since  the 
days  'of  the  ancient  Greek.  The  theatre  afforded  to  Shake- 
speare and  his  contemporaries  the.  field  for  the  employment  of 
their  genius. 

But  the  stage  still  had  its  trials  and  disabilities.  Its  legal 
recognition  dates  only  from  1572, — eight  years  after  the  birth 
of  Shakespeare.  In  the  royal  license  of  that  year  players  were 
assumed  to  be  servants,  and  were  empowered  to  play  wherever 


82  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

it  seemed  good  to  them,  if  their  masters  sanctioned  their  absence ; 
and  an  act  of  Parliament  of  the  same  year  suppressed  all  wan- 
dering players  unconnected  with  noble  houses,  characterizing 
them  in  terms  of  contumely,  and  providing  condign  punish- 
ment for  offenders.  The  stage  thus  suffered  from  the  servitude 
in  which,  by  the  barbarism  of  the  age,  players  were  held.  It 
also  suffered  from  severe  supervision,  legal  prohibition  of  the 
introduction  of  subjects  drawn  from  politics  and  religion,  sus- 
pensions for  indefinite  periods,  and  the  persecution  of  ignorant 
and  bigoted  officials.  Even  when  sanctioned  by  the  court, 
befriended  by  the  noble,  and  followed  by  the  general  public, 
the  players  got  themselves  into  trouble  by  their  own  impru- 
dence and  wantonness.  Contemned  and  tolerated  on  every 
hand,  recklessness  and  defiance  were  begotten  in  them,  which 
led  them  to  outrage  law  and  custom. 

In  this  condition  it  is  not  a  matter  of  surprise  that  the  stage 
excited  the  animosity  of  the  English  clergy,  and  drew  forth 
those  extraordinary  diatribes  which  cannot  now  be  read  without 
exciting  mirth.  By  the  year  1578,  according  to  Mr.  Arber,  the 
clergy  habitually  attacked  the  stage.  The  distraction  of  the 
people  from  the  churches  was  still  the  sore  grievance.  One 
of  them  says,  "  Wyll  not  a  fylthye  play,  wyth  the  blaste  of  a 
trumpette,  sooner  call  thyther  a  thousande,  than  an  houre's 
tolling  of  a  bell  bring  to  the  sermon  a  hundred."  Another, 
Stephen  Gosson,  who  had  himself  aforetime  written  plays, 
"perceiving  such  a  Gordian's  knot  of  disorder  in  every  play- 
house as  woulde  never  be  loosed  without  extremetie,"  was 
moved  to  "  bidde  them  the  base  at  their  owne  gole,  and  to  give 
them  a  volley  of  heathen  writers  ;  that  our  divines  considering 
the  daunger  of  suche  houses  as  are  set  up  in  London  against 


THE    THEATER.  83 

the  Lord,  might  batter  them  thoroughly  withe  greater  shotte." 
There  is  a  curious  felicity  in  much  of  the  logic  launched  by 
the  worthy  divines  at  the  players,  which  is  well  illustrated  by 
the  famous  syllogism  of  Master  Coldocke,  "  The  cause  of  plagues 
is  sinne,  and  the  cause  of  sinne  are  playes  ;  therefore  the  cause 
of  plagues  are  playes."  This  logic  appears  to  have  been  con- 
clusive, as  licenses  for  playing,  in  the  reign  of  King  James, 
says  Dr.  Doran,  were  regulated  by  the  greater  or  less  preva- 
lence of  the  plague. 

The  players  were  not  unconscious  of  their  power  to  punish 
these  adversaries,  and  that  they  used  it  freely  we  have  abun- 
dant testimony.  The  language  which  Shakespeare  puts  into 
the  mouth  of  Hamlet  shows  how  closely  the  stage  resembled 
the  press  of  the  present  day.  Zealous  partisans  used  it  as  a 
means  of  inflaming  their  followers,  and  public  characters  were 
reviled  and  caricatured,  causing  great  scandal  and  just  indig- 
nation. Citizens  and  justices  were  represented  as  "  the  most 
egregious  of  fools,  arrant  of  knaves,  and  deluded  of  hus- 
bands." Jeremy  Collier,  commenting  on  the  liberties  taken  by 
players  with  persons  of  quality,  asks,  "  Must  all  men  be  han- 
dled alike  ?  Must  their  roughness  be  needs  play'd  upon 
title  ?  And  has  our  stage  a  particular  privilege  ?  Is  their 
charter  enlarged,  and  are  they  on  the  same  foot  of  freedom 
with  the  slaves  in  the  Saturnalia  ? "  That  the  clergy  should 
come  in  for  a  share  of  the  satire  and  pleasantry  of  the  stage, 
considering  the  very  aggressive  position  which  they  occupied 
toward  it,  is  not  a  matter  to  excite  any  surprise  or  sympathy. 
The  assertion  of  Jeremy  Collier  that  its  "aim  is  to  destroy 
religion "  will  not  hold  good  of  the  English  stage  of  any 
period  of  its  history.  It  is  a  hard  thing  to  exact  that  the 


84  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

priest  shall  always  be  treated  with  the  dignity  which  attaches 
to  his  office,  regardless  of  the  lack  of  it  which  may  distin- 
guish his  character  and  manners.  And  this  is  the  demand 
which  the  clergy  have  always  made  of  the  stage.  When  hit, 
they  have  cried  out,  "  Are  the  poets  ordinaries  ?  Is  the  pul- 
pit under  discipline  of  the  stage  ?  And  are  those  fit  to  cor- 
rect the  Church,  that  are  not  fit  to  come  into  it?"  But  there 
is  a  ground  of  justification  for  the  attitude  of  the  clergy  in 
the  offences  against  morality  which  have  flourished  so  luxuri- 
antly on  the  boards  of  the  theater. 

The  stage,  from  its  nature,  living  upon  the  breath  of  popu- 
lar applause,  must  please  or  perish.  It  is  the  creature  of  its 
patrons,  dependent  upon  the  fashion  and  taste  of  the  period, 
holding  the  mirror  up  to  those  traits  and  habits  which  are 
regarded  with  pride  or  complacency,  and  reflecting  social 
vices  as  a  foil  to  social  virtues.  When  there  is  a  confounding 
of  vice  with  virtue  on  the  stage,  it  may  safely  be  assumed  that 
they  were  previously  confounded  in  the  mind  of  the  public 
which  patronizes  it.  But  the  pictures  presented  by  the  stage 
react  powerfully  upon  the  public,  by  stamping  and  giving  cur- 
rency to  types  of  character,  manners,  and  modes  of  life  which 
otherwise  would  be  less  widely  known  and  lack  the  definite- 
ness  to  induce  imitation.  The  morality  of  theatrical  repre- 
sentations is,  therefore,  a  matter  of  vast  importance,  and 
imposes  upon  the  stage  obligations  which  have  been  too  fre- 
quently treated  with  contempt,  giving  its  enemies  an  apparent 
justification  for  wholesale  arraignment  and  vituperation.  The 
charge  of  licentiousness  which  both  poets  and  players  have 
sustained  since  Plato  excluded  them  from  his  model  common- 
wealth and  Ovid  was  banished  from  Rome,  to  the  days  of 


THE    THEATER.  85 

Dumas  the  younger,  and  opera  bouffe,  is  susceptible  of  too 
detailed  a  verification,  and  is  too  notorious  to  render  any  apol- 
ogy possible. 

With  the  multiplication  of  interests,  increased  complexity  of 
relations,  and  refinement  of  manners,  which  characterize  mod- 
ern society,  the  stage  remains  unemancipated  from  the  presen- 
tation of  lust.  The  appeal  to  sexual  passion  may  be  more 
veiled  in  expression,  but  in  personal  exposure  and  suggestive 
action  it  would  be  impossible  to  surpass  the  scenes  to  be 
witnessed  on  the  modern  stage,  simply  for  the  reason  that 
"  matters  have  already  reached  a  point  beyond  which  they 
cannot  go." 

In  place  of  the  gross  and  indelicate  compositions  which 
our  ancestors  countenanced  and  admired,  we  have  a  lascivious 
musical  medley  wrought  out  by  voluptuous  figurantes,  and  a 
drama  of  adulterous  intrigue,  in  which  the  moral  inculcated 
is  the  utter  helplessness  and  therefore  innocence  of  the  fe- 
male party  to  it.  This  drama  has  for  its  motive  the  con- 
donation of  adultery  and  unchastity,  and  by  a  skilful  play 
upon  the  passions,  and  the  natural  sympathy  for  a  woman 
in  distress,  succeeds  in  confusing  the  mental  perceptions  and 
transforming  in  imagination  a  very  weak,  if  not  very  wicked, 
sinner  to  an  injured  saint. 

In  this  insidious  misrepresentation  there  is  a  sinister  at- 
tack upon  public  virtue  far  more  to  be  feared  than  the 
open  assaults  of  the  propagandists  of  passional  freedom. 
In  taking  advantage  of  the  phase  of  sentiment  which  ren- 
ders the  production  of  these  plays  possible,  the  dramatists 
have  probably  no  notion  of  disturbing  the  present  relations 
of  the  sexes,  but  merely  look  upon  it  as  a  means  of  smug- 


86  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

gling  the  potent  element  of  licentious  sexual  passion  into 
the  theater.  There  is  no  palliation  of  this  in  the  assertion 
that  the  drama  is  necessarily  a  mirror  of  the  actual  life  of  the 
time,  as  in  the  "  actual  life  of  the  time  "  there  is  always  much 
which  must  ever  be  remanded  from  the  stage.  The  effort  to 
justify  such  representations  by  attributing  them  to  humane  im- 
pulses, is  a  stretch  of  sentimentalism  fatal  to  all  distinctions  of 
right  and  wrong,  a  price  at  which  all  the  humanity  of  the  age 
would  be  dearly  bought.  "  The  imitation  of  an  ill  thing  may 
be  the  worse  for  being  exact,"  but  certainly  no  good  can  result 
to  the  stage  or  society  from  the  teaching  that  the  pariah  is 
entitled  to  the  position  and  privileges  of  purity. 

The  fascination  which  attaches  to  these  plays,  as  well  as 
to  the  more  gross  representations  of  the  spectacular  drama, 
is  at  bottom  nothing  but  that  of  licentiousness,  which  is 
brought  forward  under  cover  of  a  plea  for  female  emanci- 
pation from  the  trammels  of  duty.  It  is  one  of  the  results 
of  the  foolish  agitation  which  has  brought  the  distinctions  of 
sex  prominently  before  the  public  mind,  exaggerated  the  in- 
fluence of  desire,  and  thus  given  an  impulse  to  unlicensed 
passion.  The  effect  is  partly  owing  to  the  lack  of  popular 
sympathy  with  high  ideals  of  life,  which  has  rendered  audi- 
ences insensible  to  heroic  delineations,  and  driven  the  theatre 
to  the  vulgar  sensation  which  should  be  the  exclusive  prop- 
erty of  the  newspaper.  A  reform  can  only  be  brought  about 
by  an  exhibition  of  the  real  evil,  and  a  popular  demand  for 
plays  which  have  a  higher  aim  than  to  pander  to  sexual 
passion.  "  The  stage  is  respectable  only  as  it  is  respected "  ; 
and  in  order  that  it  may  be  respected,  it  must  be  preserved 
from  motives  that  are  as  inadmissible  in  art  as  they  are  an- 
tagonistic to  morality. 


THE    THEATER.  87 

But  the  presentation  of  licentiousness  is  an  abuse,  and  not 
an  essential  feature  of  the  drama.  Dr.  Channing  says,  "  Po- 
etry has  been  made  the  instrument  of  vice,  the  pander  of  the 
passions  ;  but  when  genius  thus  stoops  it  parts  with  part  of 
its  power."  The  appeal  to  the  lower  instincts  may  draw 
crowds  who  delight  only  in  sensuality,  but  the  power  ex- 
erted by  the  art  is  far  less  in  degree,  as  it  is  lower  in 
character,  to  that  which  is  exerted  when  the  impersonal  and 
heroic  instincts  are  properly  addressed.  The  field  of  the 
drama  is  as  wide  as  human  experience  and  the  sphere  of 
poetic  fancy  and  imagination  ;  being  limited  only  by  those 
restrictions  which  the  usages  of  civilization  have  prescribed 
in  reference  to  decency.  It  is  not  poverty  of  material  which 
drives  the  stage  to  questionable  sources,  but  the  weakness 
of  the  dramatic  genius  which  is  compelled  to  make  up  for 
lack  of  power  in  treatment  by  the  morbid  fascination  of  for- 
bidden fruit. 

There  is  no  degradation  inherent  in  the  stage  as  there  is 
none  in  poetry,  of  which  the  stage  is  the  interpreter.  For  a 
long  time  it  held  the  same  relation  to  poetry  that  the  printing- 
press  does  to  modern  literature.  It  was  through  the  instrumen- 
tality of  the  drama  that  the  mass  of  people  got  their  knowl- 
edge of  the  works  of  genius,  and  of  history  as  well.  It  is  by 
means  of  the  stage  that  the  mighty  influence  of  Shakespeare 
has  been  exerted  upon  all  English-speaking  men  and  women, 
developing  and  modelling  their  intellectual  structure.  A  great 
dramatic  poet,  said  Goethe,  if  he  is  at  the  same  time  produc- 
tive and  is  actuated  by  a  noble  purpose,  may  succeed  in  mak- 
ing the  soul  of  his  pieces  become  the  soul  of  the  people,  and 
this  is  what  Shakespeare  has  accomplished.  The  drama  is  as 


88  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

old  as  the  first  story-teller  who  tried  to  make  his  listeners 
realize  his  narrative  by  appropriate  rhetoric  and  mimetic  ges- 
tures. It  is  a  moving  spectacle  of  life  and  action,  the  product 
of  history,  imagination,  and  art,  by  which  a  chapter  of  human 
experience  is  realized  to  a  sympathetic  audience.  But  the 
sympathetic  audience  is  indispensable  to  the  life  of  the  drama, 
and  it  naturally  seizes  upon  that  which  attracts.  The  stage 
sinks  to  the  level  of  its  patrons. 

"The  drama's  laws -the  drama's  patrons  give, 
And  we  that  live  to  please  must  please  to  live." 

In  a  purely  mercantile  community  in  which  little  is  respected 
but  money,  it  is  not  to  be  premised  that  managers  and  drama- 
tists will  be  over-nice  about  the  matter  which  they  serve  up  to 
the  public,  especially  if  the  worse  the  mixture  the  more  greedily 
it  is  devoured.  The  conductors  of  the  theater  are  not  artists 
or  moralists,  but  simply  business  men  determined,  if  possible, 
to  present  a  fair  balance-sheet,  and  therefore  mainly  intent 
upon  first  meeting  the  popular  demand.  They  do  not  presume 
to  rise  above  the  popular  taste,  and  in  deference  to  a  nice 
sense  of  propriety  shelve  pieces  which  fill  their  houses  and 
pockets.  It  is  hard  to  condemn  them  for  not  being  wiser 
than  the  audiences  which  assist,  and  no  condemnation  would 
be  just  which  did  not  include  the  latter.  None*the  less  does 
the  representation  of  immoral  plays  injure  the  proper  standing 
and  just  appreciation  of  the  drama.  In  reaping  the  harvest 
an  odium  is  incurred  which  drives  from  the  theater  many  who 
would  otherwise  be  appreciative  and  influential  patrons,  and  a 
stain  is  inflicted  on  all  connected  with  it. 

The   stage   is   not    the   only   institution   which   reflects    the 


THE    THEATER.  89 

infirmities  of  humankind.  Government,  politics,  diplomacy,  the 
press,  the  pulpit,  and  society  are  all  afflicted,  and  its  common 
origin  forbids  us  to  look  to  the  stage  for  anomalous  perfection. 
The  mission  of  the  stage  renders  it  more  liable  to  pander  to 
the  weaknesses  of  human  nature,  and  to  excite  the  censure 
of  moralists.  There  is  a  perpetual  struggle  in  the  world  be- 
tween duty  and  desire,  work  and  play ;  and  it  being  the 
object  of  the  stage  to  minister  to  human  desire  and  pleas- 
ure, it  is  inevitable  that  in  the  conflict  it  should  come  in 
for  abundant  criticism  and  condemnation.  But  pleasure  is 
essential  to  human  well-being,  and  not  even  the  religion 
which  taught  asceticism  as  the  highest  form  of  virtue  was 
able  to  effect  any  important  change  in  the  conduct  and 
opinion  of  the  world.  An  institution,  therefore,  which  has 
labored  to  lighten  the  miseries  of  existence  by  the  cultiva- 
tion of  pleasure,  and  by  diffusing  an  atmosphere  of  contem- 
plation in  which  ideals  of  beauty  and  heroism  are  presented, 
has  rested  securely  on  the  favor  of  the  average  mass  of  man- 
kind. 

Among  the  Latin  nations,  where  the  functions  of  govern- 
ment have  had  more  of  a  paternal  character  than  among  the 
Germans,  the  idea  has  obtained  that  the  theatre,  like  acade- 
mies and  universities,  could  not  rely  upon  the  voluntary  pat- 
ronage of.  the  people.  In  these  countries  the  influence  of 
vulgar  tastes  has  been  deliberately  counteracted.  Recogniz- 
ing the  power  of  the  stage  to  elevate  the  tone  of  public  feeling 
and  as  a  school  of  manners,  the  government  in  France  has 
always,  since  the  reign  of  Francis  I.,  with  the  exception  of  a 
brief  period  during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  granted  a  subvention 
to  certain  theaters  of  the  capital,  insuring  the  production  of  the 


90  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

masterpieces   of  dramatic   literature   and   a   high   standard   of 
histrionic  ability. 

It  is  only  by  the  resources  and  power  of  the  stage  that 
the  masterpieces  of  dramatic  literature  can  ever  be  adequately 
interpreted.  In  regard  to  his  "  Iphigenia,"  Goethe  said  the 
printed  words  were  only  a  faint  reflex  of  the  fire  which  stirred 
within  him  during  the  composition  ;  the  actor  must  bring  us 
back  to  the  first  fire  which  animated  the  poet  Eloquence, 
according  to  the  same  high  authority,  is  the  very  life  of  the 
stage.  The  power  and  meaning  of  poetry  are  only  half  dis- 
cerned until  interpreted  by  a  master  acquainted  with  the 
resources  of  manner  and  expression.  Instances  will  suggest 
themselves  to  every  one  acquainted  with  the  stage  and  the 
triumphs  of  great  actors.  It  still  remains  the  heritage  of  the 
stage  to  reproduce  the  nobler  passions  and  heroic  proportions 
of  humanity.  In  our  day  the  novel,  a  form  of  dramatic  com- 
position in  which  elaborate  description  supplies  in  a  measure 
stage  accessories,  has  for  a  time  partially  supplanted  the  art 
of  the  theater.  But  this  is  only  a  temporary  result  of  an 
introspective  and  reading  age,  and  the  return  of  a  more 
healthy,  objective  habit  of  mind  cannot  but  witness  a  revival 
of  a  higher  interest  in  the  drama.  It  will  be  ascertained  that 
we  have  overestimated  the  value  of  reading,  both  for  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge  and  the  appreciation  of  poetry.  In 
order  fully  to  realize  the  past,  all  the  accessories  of  action 
must  be  brought  to  bear  on  the  senses  and  imagination. 
"  The  drama,"  says  Bacon,  "  is  as  history  brought  before 
our  eyes."  No  critic  or  commentator  has  the  power  which 
the  actor  possesses  in  his  voice  and  action.  A  great  actor 
takes  on  the  individualities  which  he  personates,  and  stands 


THE    THEATER.  QI 

to  the  world  as  if  they  actually  live  in  him.  In  this  way  the 
drama  reproduces  the  most  precious  of  human  memories, 
the  persons  and  characters  of  the  men  and  women  of  the 
past. 

"The  real  object  of  the  drama,"  says  Macaulay,  "is  the 
exhibition  of  human  character.  To  this  fundamental  law 
every  other  regulation  is  subordinate."  Herein  is  the  difficult 
art  of  the  actor.  Voice,  expression,  dress,  and  action  are 
important  as  they  assist  in  justly  representing  character. 
The  finest  qualities  of  mind  and  feeling  conjoined  with  high 
culture  and  careful  training  are  manifestly  necessary  to  an 
actor  fitly  to  represent  the  characters  delineated  in  the  mag- 
nificent literature  of  the  drama.  An  actor  by  true  and  deep 
feeling  has  the  power  of  bringing  the  impalpable  before  our 
eyes.  "We  turn,"  says  Percy  Fitzgerald,  "to  the  old  portraits 
of  actors,  and  are  amazed  at  the  speaking  intelligence,  the 
bustling  vivacity,  the  lines  and  channels  of  thought  and  rest- 
less ideas  worn  into  their  very  cheeks ;  the  roving,  brilliant 
eyes,  the  lips  about  to  move ;  and  from  these  character  pic- 
tures we  see  how,  by  sheer  training  and  power  of  intellect, 
they  forced  their  features  to  signify  what  they  represented." 

The  decline  of  the  stage  at  the  present  time  may  be  traced 
in  a  measure  to  the  neglect  of  this  primary  purpose  of  the 
drama  to  represent  character.  The  demand  for  dramatic  en- 
tertainment has  outrun  the  means  of  our  dramatic  artists. 
The  number  of  actors  capable  of  representing  character  is 
ridiculously  small  as  compared  with  the  number  of  theaters. 
In  order  to  make  up  for  the  deficiency  of  genuine  histrionic 
talent,  every  available  device  of  spectacle,  furniture,  dress, 
slang,  grotesque  contortion,  and  commonplace  incident  of  daily 


Q2  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

life  has  been  seized  upon  and  paraded  upon  the  boards,  con- 
stituting a  ridiculous  travesty  of  the  drama.  The  failure  of 
these  permanently  to  attract  and  interest  might  easily  have 
been  foreseen  and  predicted.  Every  play  of  enduring  interest 
.hinges  upon  character,  for  it  is  character  which  creates  story ; 
and  the  interest  is  due  to  the  free  and  natural  development 
and  manifestation  of  character  in  varying  circumstances.  This 
is  the  only  thing  which  has  inexhaustible  interest,  and  it  is 
upon  this  rock  that  the  legitimate  drama  is  founded,  and  upon 
which  all  amorphous,  parasitical  growths  will  be  ground  to 
pieces. 

There  is  a.  gulf  between  nature  and  art  which  cannot  be 
bridged.  Art  is  essentially  imitative,  and  dramatic .  art  is  an 
imitation  of  the  characters  and  actions  of  individuals  by  indi- 
viduals, and  therefore  calculated  to  provoke  comparison  of 
persons.  Between  one  who  acts  and  speaks  greatly  in  a  great 
place  and  occasion,  and  one  who  imitates  his  action  and 
speech  on  the  mimic  stage,  there  is  a  vast  disparity,  to  over- 
come which  is  the  immense  task  of  the  actor.  The  very  ex- 
altation of  the  character  and  scenes  represented  provokes  an 
unfavorable  parallel.  However  admirable  the  acting,  the  po- 
etry, the  stage  accessories,  the  imagination  of  the  auditor,  and 
however  perfect  the  illusion,  the  afterthought  that  the  whole  is 
an  imitation,  a  counterfeit  presentment,  comes  in  to  lower  the 
estimation  of  the  assistants  in  the  representation.  This  imi- 
tative character,  inherent  in  the  nature  of  art,  must  always 
affect  the  estimation  and  regard  in  which  the  members  of  the 
dramatic  profession  are  held  as  public  characters,  but  it  in  no 
wise  detracts  from  their  proper  and  reputable  fame  as  indi- 
vidual members  of  the  community. 


THE    THEATER.  93 

The  unmerited  disrepute  in  which  actors  have  been  held 
has  exercised  an  evil  influence  by  habituating  the  public  to 
regard  in  them  with  an  indulgent  eye  offences  which  have 
been  severely  reprehended  in  others.  The  strolling  life  led 
by  actors  in  the  early  time,  a  feature  of  the  actor's  life  which 
has  not  yet  quite  disappeared,  was  unfavorable  to  domestic 
virtue.  In  this  way  a  low  standard  of  social  morality  obtained 
and  was  tolerated.  In  fact,  the  sentiment  that  the  private 
character  of  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  the  stage  is  a  matter 
of  slight  concern  to  the  public,  and  of  small  weight  in  the 
profession,  is  one  of  the  most  depressing  influences  which  the 
best  representatives  of  dramatic  art  have  to  encounter. 

The  irregular  manner  in  which  the  profession  is  recruited 
has  also  affected  the  standard  of  morality  which  obtains  in  it. 
Whilst  excellence  is  as  seldom  attained  in  histrionic  art  as  in 
any  of  the  fine  arts,  a  minor  degree  of  dramatic  power  is  one 
of  the  most  common  of  human  possessions  ;  hence  the  aspirants 
to  the  stage  compare  in  numbers  better  with  the  audiences  than 
with  the  companies  of  the  theater,  and  the  majority  have-  no 
conception  of  any  training  required  properly  to  enter  upon  the 
theatrical  boards.  This  latter  belief  is  fostered  by  the  produc- 
tion of  spectacular  pieces  in  which  personal  beauty  and  volup- 
tuous display  are  the  principal  requirements  of  one  portion  of 
the  company.  Under  such  circumstances,  among  numerous 
aspirants  of  about  equal  merits,  the  most  unblushing  and  un- 
scrupulous are  apt  to  claim  public  attention.  A  performance 
of  such  persons  must  be  strictly  a  personal  exhibition,  a  thing 
which  is  an  offence  to  nature,  and  only  to  be  regarded  with 
contempt  on  or  off  the  stage.  The  intrusion  of  amateurs  of 
both  sexes  is  a  positive  evil  which  at  present  there  is  no  means 


94  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

of  correcting.  There  is  no  school  of  acting,  and  barely  a  tra- 
dition of  the  requirements  of  histrionic  art.  Hence  we  have 
a  class  without  the  ability  and  training  of  actors,  who  have 
managed  to  obtain  a  connection  with  the  theatre,  to  the  in- 
calculable detriment  and  disgrace  of  the  drama  and  its  genuine 
followers. 

But  when  all  that  can  be  urged  against  the  theater  has 
been  weighed,  the  sum  of  good  which  remains  far  overbalances 
the  causes  of  censure.  The  number  of  plays  in  which  plot, 
language,  and  action  are  decorous  and  elevating  far  outnum- 
bers the  others,  and  these  have  the  firmest  hold  upon  public 
favor.  The  taste  of  the  day  may  be  low,  but  it  is  in  the  main 
pure.  The  majority  want  to  be  amused,  and  offences  against 
decency  lose  a  portion  of  their  noxious  effect  from  the  super- 
ficial manner  in  which  they  are  regarded.  It  is  the  intention 
which  informs  words  and  actions  with  immodesty,  and  that 
which  is  perfectly  pure  and  natural  may  be  so  construed 
as  to  excite  lewd  attention  and  gratify  a  prurient  taste.  It 
must  ever  be  remembered  that  it  is  always  in  the  power  of 
the  public  "  to  restrain  the  license  of  the  theater,  and  make 
it  contribute  its  assistance  to  the  advancement  of  morality 
and  the  reformation  of  the  age." 

The  actor  has  to  contend  with  influences  which  endanger 
self-control  and  evade  discipline  to  a  far  greater  extent  than 
the  worker  in  other  fields.  His  profession  requires  a  surrender 
of  individuality,  and  absorption  in  the  character  to  be  repre- 
sented. This  self-abnegation  and  a  constant  vicissitude  of  emo- 
tion have  a  tendency  to  unsettle  the  mind  and  induce  vagaries 
of  thought  and  conduct.  His  associations  are  all  personal,  and 
he  is  by  nature  peculiarly  subject  to  the  magnetic  influences 


THE    THEATER.  95 

of  sympathy  and  passion.  We  have  the  authority  of  Boswell 
that  actors  excel  in  animation  and  relish  of  existence.  Their 
profession  excites  "liveliness  and  quickness  of  mind."  There 
is  something  in  the  artistic  temperament  at  war  with  cautious 
and  prudent  worldliness.  These  attractive  attributes  of  the 
actor  prove  too  often  as  dangerous  to  the  possessor  as  they 
are  fascinating  to  others.  They  are  sought  and  pressed  into 
society  where  the  free  and  volatile  artist  abandons  himself  to 
uncontrolled  delights,  dissipates  his  energies,  and  loses  that 
balance  without  which  it  is  as  impossible  for  actors  as  others 
to  maintain  just  relations  with  the  world. 

There  has  always  existed  a  great  affinity  between  authors 
and  actors.  Cicero  was  the  friend  of  Roscius,  and  modern 
instances  suggest  themselves  to  every  mind.  The  poet  is 
indebted  to  the  stage  for  the  best  reading  of  his  verses  ;  the 
stage  is  indebted  to  the  poet  for  the  warp  and  woof  of  its  pro- 
ductions. The  literary  knowledge  of  a  well-equipped  actor  is 
necessarily  extensive,  and  his  perception  of  ideal  and  verbal 
relationships  quick  and  suggestive.  It  is  in  the  intercourse 
of  these  co-workers  that  we  get  the  best  view  of  the  social 
character  of  eminent  actors.  This  is  especially  the  case  in 
the  history  of  the  English  stage  ;  for  it  is  a  curious  fact  in  the 
social  history  of  theatrical  characters,  instanced  by  the  late 
Henry  T.  Tuckerman,  that  the  English,  notwithstanding  their 
prudery  and  exclusiveness,  first  recognized  actors  and  actresses 
of  merit  as  companions.  Goethe  and  Schiller  in  Germany 
were  foremost  in  acknowledging  their  just  claims  upon  society. 
Goethe  interested  himself  actively  to  raise  the  esteem  in 
which  actors  were  held,  showing  the  world  that  he  held  them 
worthy  of  social  intercourse  with  himself,  and  securing  their 


96  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

admission  to  the  highest  circles.  Schiller  was  present  at 
every  rehearsal,  and  after  a  successful  performance  of  one  of 
his  plays  it  was  his  custom  to  celebrate  the  event  with  the 
company  of  the  theater.  Of  the  French  actor  and  poet  Moliere, 
Goethe  said,  "There  is  in  him  a  grace  and  feeling  for  the 
decorous  and  a  tone  of  good  society,  which  his  innate  beautiful 
nature  could  only  attain  by  daily  intercourse  with  the  most 
eminent  men  of  the  age." 

But  it  is  among  the  authors  and  actors  of  England  that  we 
have  the  most  copious  and  pleasing  records  of  mutual  appreci- 
ation and  regard.  Any  account  of  these  reciprocal  good  offices 
would  exhaust  the  space  allotted  to  this  "  Lotos  Leaf."  It 
is  enough,  in  conclusion,  to  cite  the  indignant  answer  of  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd  to  the  question,  "  What  can  ye  expec'  frae 
a  play-actor  ? "  "  What  can  I  expect,  James  ? "  is  the  reply  ; 
"why,  look  at  Terry,  Young,  Matthews,  Charles  Kemble,  and 
your  friend  Vandenhoff ;  and  then  I  say  that  you  expect  good 
players  to  be  good  men  as  men  go  ;  and  likewise  gentlemen." 

We  could  point  this  reply  with  a  far  longer  list  of  names, 
but  we  are  still  obliged  to  confess  the  truth  in  Douglas 
Jerrold's  sorrowful  sketch  of  the  strolling  player:  "He  is  a 
merry  preacher  of  the  noblest  lessons  of  human  thought.  He 
informs  human  clay  with  thoughts  and  throbbings  which  refine 
it ;  and  for  this  he  was  for  centuries  'a  rogue  and  a  vagabond/ 
and  is,  even  now,  a  long,  long  day's  march  from  the  vantage- 
ground  of  respectability." 


POEM 


POEM. 

FROM    THE    GERMAN. 
BY  C.  McK.  LEOSER. 


HEN  thy  slender  feet  I  gaze  upon, 
Strange  it  seems  to  me,  O  sweetest 

maiden, 
So  much  beauty  may  be  borne  upon 

them  ! 


When  thy  little  hands  I  gaze  upon, 
Strange  it  seems  to  me,  O  sweetest  maiden, 
How  they  wound,  and  no  scar  torn  upon  them  ! 

When  thy  rose-leaf  lips  I  gaze  upon, 
Strange  it  seems  to  me,  O  sweetest  maiden, 
How  my  kisses  find  such  scorn  upon  them  ! 


When  thy  quiet  eyes  I  gaze  upon, 

Strange  it  seems  to  me,  O  sweetest  maiden, 

Love's  light  seemeth  still  at  morn  upon  them 


100  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

There  my  heart  is.     Do  not  tread  upon 

My  heart  again  ;   such  love,  O  sweetest  maiden, 

No  other  souls  have  ever  worn  upon  them ! 

Let  my  longing  love-song  die  upon 

Thy  heart ;   for  truer  song,  O  sweetest  maiden, 

No  man's  lips  have  ever  borne  upon  them ! 


AN  EPISODE  OF  THE  WAR 


AN    EPISODE   OF  THE  WAR. 

BY    W.    S.   ANDREWS. 

THINK  there  is  but  one  other  person  who  knows 
all  the  facts,  —  certainly  they  will  never  find  their  way 
into  history  unless  this  account  gets  into  print ;  had 
they  been  known  at  the  time,  I  have  no  doubt  there 
would  have  been  a  "  Congressional  Committee "  on  it, 
and  a  "  report."  I  could  n't  have  helped  being  a  witness ;  I 
shall  tell  nothing  now,  that  I  might  not  have  told  then  upon 
oath. 

There  are  many  who  will  know  the  story  to  be  true,  when 
they  read  it  here.  Some  who  were  actors  in  it  may  learn 
now,  for  the  first  time,  how  it  happened  that  we  were  so 
badly  beaten. 

Perhaps  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  the  lives  of  many 
men,  perhaps  the  fate  of  a  nation,  may  depend  upon  such 
a  trifle  as  the  jealousy  or  dislike  of  one  general  for  an- 
other (instance  Fitz  John  Porter  and  Pope  at  the  second 
Bull  Run),  an  attack  of  dyspepsia,  a  headache,  or  a  glass 
of  whiskey.  You  remember  we  were  beaten  at  the  first 
Bull  Run  by  Johnston,  who  came  up  by  a  forced  march 
just  in  time  to  turn  the  tide  of  victory. 

Beauregard  was  already  beaten ;  another  hour,  and  his 
army  would  have  been  in  full  retreat,  and  the  victory  ours. 


104  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

But  our  wagon-train  did  not  move  as  soon  it  was  ordered 
and  expected  to  do,  and  our  army  was  delayed  several  hours 
in  consequence.  It  is  said  that  the  delay  was  caused  by  a 
quartermaster  who  took  "a  drop  too  much,"  and  went  to  sleep 
when  he  should  have  been  at  work.  It  was  a  mere  trifle, 
—  only  an  hour  or  two  lost,  just  one  glass  too  many,  —  a 
mere  trifle.  Yet  how  many  weary  months  of  warfare  did 
it  bring  us ;  how  many  thousands  of  lives  were  sacrificed 
to  regain  what  it  lost  us,  trifle  as  it  was  ! 

Every  soldier  knows  that  the  slightest  accident  may  bring 
defeat  upon  the  ablest  general,  or  victory  to  the  poorest. 

But  what  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  about  was  n't  an  accident ; 
if  the  result  was  not  foreseen,  it  might  have  been :  but  you 
shall  judge  for  yourself. 

The  jealousy  which  always  exists,  in  some  degree,  between 
the  army  and  navy,  wherever  they  are  called  upon  to  co- 
operate, is  a  most  fruitful  source  of  trouble,  and  oftentimes 
of  disaster. 

It  would  not  have  happened  but  for  that.  But  I  must 
not  get  ahead  of  my  story. 

I  was  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  signal-station  at  Gen- 
eral Gillmore's  headquarters  on  Morris  Island,  where  we 
had  taken  the  Rebel  forts  Wagner  and  Gregg,  and  were 
waiting  for  the  navy  to  complete  the  work. 

The  monitors  had  lain  for  months  waiting  the  order  to 
advance  on  Charleston,  but  were  detained  by  one  fear  and 
another.  (They  never  did  advance  until  Sherman,  having 
taken  the  city  from  the  rear,  the  fleet  quietly  steamed  into 
the  harbor.)  Had  there  been  a  Farragut,  a  Rowan,  a  John 
Rodgers,  or  a  Boggs  in  command,  it  might  have  been  a 


AN    EPISODE    OF    THE    WAR.  105 

different  story.  But  Admiral  Dahlgren  was  a  timid  officer, 
• — not  that  he  did  not  intend  to  pass  the  forts,  and  take  the 
city ;  he  planned  and  issued  orders  for  an  attack  a  dozen 
times,  and  as  often  postponed  it.  Before  we  took  the  forts 
on  Morris  Island,  they  were  the  excuse.  Then  it  was  Fort 
Sumter,  even  after  that  was  dismantled.  The  chief  fear, 
however,  was  of  torpedoes  among  the  harbor  obstructions, 
and  probably  not  without  reason. 

However,  the  army,  impatient  to  get  into  Charleston,  and 
having  done  all  that  it  could  on  the  land,  expected  the 
navy  to  advance  immediately  on  the  fall  of  the  Morris  Island 
forts,  as  had  been  promised  ;  and  after  about  six  months  of 
disappointments  and  delays,  General  Gillmore  determined  to 
attempt  the  capture  of  Sumter  by  assault. 

That  fort  had  been  reduced  to  a  heap  of  ruins  by  continued 
bombardment,  but  the  lower  tier  of  casements,  buried  under 
the  debris,  was  intact,  and  a  garrison  was  maintained  there. 

It  was  generally  understood  that  there  was  not  a  very 
friendly  feeling  between  the  General  and  the  Admiral,  although 
they  were  as  polite  to  each  other  in  their  official  and  social 
intercourse  as  two  Chinese  mandarins.  Most  of  their  official 
communication,  being  conducted  by  signals,  passed  through 
my  hands,  and  I  write  only  from  my  own  knowledge. 

One  day,  early  in  September,  1863,  at  about  noon,  the 
General  directed  me  to  signal  to  the  Admiral  the  information 
that  he  would  assault  Sumter,  by  boats,  that  night.  Much 
to  my  surprise,  there  was  returned,  in  a  few  moments,  an 
answer  to  the  effect  that  the  Admiral  had  himself  planned  to 
assault  Sumter  that  night,  by  boats  from  the  fleet,  and  ask- 
ing "if  the  General  had  not  heard  of  his  intention  to  do  so." 


106  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

The  General  replied  that  he  was  "very  much  surprised, — 
had  no  idea  that  a  boat  assault  was  intended  by  the  navy." 

Then  followed  a  series  of  messages  to  and  fro.  Each  was 
sorry  that  he  had  done  anything  to  interfere  with  the  other ; 
each  thought  it  "very  strange  that  both  had  hit  upon  doing 
the  same  thing  on  the  same  day";  each  would  gladly  with- 
draw in  favor  of  the  other;  "but,  the  orders  having  been 
issued,  the  men  being  ready,"  etc.,  etc.  Then  it  was  pro- 
posed that  both  parties  should  unite  under  the  command  of 
one  officer,  and,  "being  an  expedition  by  water,  the  Admiral 
thought  that  the  General  would  at  once  see  the  propriety  of 
giving  a  naval  officer  the  command."  The  General  "would 
be  delighted,  certainly;  the  army  forces  would  be  under  com- 
mand of  Brigadier-General  Thomas  Stevenson,  who  would  act 
under  the  orders  of  any  naval  officer  of  equal  rank  that  the 
Admiral  might  designate."  (At  that  time  there  was  no  such 
officer  in  the  fleet,  except  the  Admiral  himself.)  The  Admiral 
was  delighted ;  "  his  force  would  be  under  the  command  of 

Captain ,  Acting  Commodore."     "The  General  was  sorry, 

but  an  acting  commodore  was  not  a  commodore,  and  could 
not  therefore  rank  with  a  brigadier-general,  and  of  course 
General  Stevenson  could  not  take  orders  from  an  inferior 
officer,"  etc.  After  some  further  correspondence  on  this  sub- 
ject, the  Admiral  admitted  that  he  could  not  send  the  ranking 

• 
officer,  but   "he   had   failed,    upon  research  and  reflection,  to 

find  any  precedent  for  putting  a  naval  officer  under  the  com- 
mand of  an  army  officer,  and  so  the  expedition  must  go  inde- 
pendent as  to  command,  but  would  co-operate."     The  General 
"regretted  this,  but,"  etc.,  etc.;   and  it  was  so  arranged. 
Then  it  was  agreed  that  whichever  party  succeeded  in  cap- 


AN    EPISODE    OF    THE    WAR.  1 07 

turing  the  fort  should  burn  from  the  parapet  a  red  light, 
seeing  which  the  others  would  desist. 

Other  matters  remained  to  be  arranged ;  it  was  getting 
late,  and  for  some  time  past  there  had  been  great  difficulty 
in  transmitting  the  signals,  owing  to  the  absence  of  the  regu- 
lar signal  officer  of  the  flag-ship  from  his  post.  I  therefore 
suggested  to  the  General,  that  I  had  better  go  to  the  flag- 
ship, and  arrange  details  verbally.  He  assented,  and  having 
received  full  instructions,  I  put  off  through  the  surf,  in  the 
General's  boat. 

I  found  no  difficulty  in  reaching  a  perfect  understanding 
with  the  Admiral,  a  most  urbane  gentleman,  as  to  the  plan 
of  assault.  It  was  agreed  that  the  naval  party  should  leave 
the  flag-ship  at  9  p.  M.,  and  the  army  party,  having  a  less 
distance  to  pull,  about  fifteen  minutes  later.  The  last  words 
the  Admiral  said  to  me,  as  I  left  his  cabin,  were :  "  Tell  Gen- 
eral Gillmore  that  my  boats  will  start  at  nine,  or  later  should 
he  desire  it.  If  he  wishes  delay  you  can  signal  me  to  that 
effect." 

It  was  then  after  seven  o'clock,  and  I  had  a  good  half- 
hour's  pull,  bringing  me  to  headquarters  at  about  twenty 
minutes  of  eight. 

As  soon  as  the  General  heard  my  report,  he  said :  "  Tele- 
graph to  General  Stevenson  to  start  as  soon  as  possible." 
I  said,  "Why,  sir,  under  that  order  he  will  get  off  by  eight, 
and  the  Admiral  said  his  boats  would  not  go  until  nine." 
For  reply  I  received  a  very  significant  look,  and  a  repetition 
of  the  order,  which  I  at  once  transmitted  to  General  Steven- 
son. 

That    the  intention    was    to  outwit    the   navy   by  capturing 


108  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

the  fort  in  advance  of  them,  was  plain ;  and  whatever  my 
opinion  of  the  plan,  I  had  no  reason  then  to  doubt  its  suc- 
cess. But  alas  for  human  expectations ! 

General  Stevenson  got  away  soon  after  eight.  He  had 
perhaps  fourteen  hundred  yards  to  pull,  which  would  take  at 
least  twenty  minutes.  I  was  therefore  not  a  little  surprised, 
about  ten  minutes  after  he  started,  to  hear  a  brisk  fusilade 
from  the  fort.  Instantly  every  other  Rebel  for.t  in  the  harbor 
opened  on  Sumter,  regardless  of  their  own  men,  and  for  a 
few  moments  it  was  the  centre  of  a  terrible  fire,  when  sud- 
denly a  red  light  was  shown  from  the  parapet,  and  all  was 
still. 

It  was  evident  that  the  assault  had  been  made,  and  the 
red  light  signified  its  success. 

Very  soon  General  Stevenson  came  back,  and  reported  that 
he  was  about  midway  from  the  fort  when  the  red  light  ap- 
peared, and  supposing  the  naval  party  to  be  in  possession,  he 
returned. 

I  was  a  little  surprised  that  the  navy  boats,  which  were 
not  to  have  left  the  flag-ship  until  nine,  should  have  reached 
the  fort  a  little  after  eight.  I  afterward  learned  that  the 
moment  I  left  the  Admiral  he  gave  orders  that  his  boats 
should  start  as  soon  as  it  was  dark. 

General  Gillmore  and  Admiral  Dahlgren  had  designed  to 
outwit  each  other,  each  being  anxious  to  take  to  himself  the 
entire  credit  of  the  exploit. 

We  made  a  night  of  it  on  shore.  Our  chagrin  at  being 
outdone  by  the  navy  was  forgotten  in  our  joy  at  having 
captured  the  fort,  and  the  sutlers  did  an  unusually  large 
business. 


AN    EPISODE    OF    THE    WAR.  IOQ 

Next  morning  we  learned  the  truth.  The  "  Rebs  "  had  read 
our  signals.  Had  we  used  the  "cipher"  that  would  have 
been  impossible,  but  the  signal  officer  on  the  flag-ship*  had 
never  been  instructed  in  its  use,  owing  to  the  neglect  of  the 
senior  signal  officer,  Captain  Town,  who  hated  the  navy,  be- 
cause he  had  once  been  treated  with  discourtesy  on  board 
the  new  "  Ironsides."  So  we  used  the  common  code,  easily 
read  by  the  Rebels.  But  we  didn't  know  that,  until  this 
affair  taught  us.  We  kept  the  secret  to  ourselves,  though. 
1  tell  it  in  the  interest  of  truth,  and  because  no  harm  can 
come  of  it,  now. 

Many  noble  fellows  lost  their  lives  by  it.  The  -Rebels 
were  fully  prepared  to  meet  the  assault. 

It  was  our  boys  who  were  surprised.  More  than  one 
hundred  were  captured  or  killed.  Among  the  former  were 
Porter  and  Franklin,  two  young  heroes,  afterward  killed  at 
Fort  Fisher. 

None  of  us  were  proud  of  the  exploit;  but  the  recital  of 
the  facts  now  cannot  be  out  of  place,  and  is  a  simple  act 
of  justice. 

NOTE.  I  find  no  mention  of  this  assault  in  the  Rebellion  records  or  in  any  of 
the  official  reports  of  General  Gillmore  or  Admiral  Dahlgren.  It  is,  however, 
mentioned  in  Bonyton's  "  History  of  the  Navy  during  the  Rebellion."  My  official 
"Record-Book"  containing  the  correspondence  by  signals  was  borrowed  by  Gen- 
eral Gillmore  at  the  time,  and  never  returned. 


SUNRISE  AND  SUNSET. 


SUNRISE. 

BY  C.  E.  L.  HOLMES. 

HE  curtains  of  night's  murky  tent  are  torn  ; 
Day's  heralds,  stealing  through  the  welcome 

rent, 

Are  streaming  up  the  startled  orient, 
And  painting  heaven  upon  the  brow  of  morn. 
Aurora  hath  the  palsied  Samson  shorn  ; 
And  back,  amid  the  caverns  of  the  hills, 
His  phantom-crew  of  drowsy  sentinels 
Are  fleeing  from  Diana's  hounds  and  horn. 
Full-orbed  along  the  coroneted  peaks, 
The  amorous  day-god  for  young  Hebe  seeks,  — 
Fresh  pride  sits  on  dame  Nature's  rotund  cheeks  ; 
The  while  her  bosom  quickening  with  new  birth, 
Fulfils  once  more  the  promise  made  at  first, 
When  lusty  Day  espoused  the  fair  young  Earth. 


SUNSET. 

BY  C.  E.  L.  HOLMES. 

ROM  orient  to  Occident  once  more 
The  sun  has  whirled  his  blazing  chariot's  rims, 
And  now  his  coursers  bathe  their  wearied  limbs 
In  that  aerial  jasper  sea,  which  pours 
Its  baptism  of  golden  spray  sheer  o'er 
The  crimsoned  bastions  of  that  high  sea-wall, 
Upon  the  foreheads  of  the  hills  to  fall. 
Day  passes  outward  through  the  jewelled  doors, 
And  star-eyed  Twilight  —  timorous  dusky  maid  — 
Steak  in  with  backward  glance  and  dainty  tread  ; 
E'en  of  her  own  sweet  shadowy  self  afraid, 
Now  half  revealed,  —  now  wholly  lost  to  sight, — 
She  dances  coyly  through  the  fading  light, 
To  rest  in  the  enamored  arms  of  Night. 


FAIRY  GOLD. 


FAIRY    GOLD: 

AN  IRISH  SKETCH. 

SHOWING   HOW   TIM   DUFF   WAS   RUINED   ENTIRELY   BY   TOO   MUCH 
GOOD   LUCK. 

BY   JOHN    BROUGHAM. 

"  If  you  coort  a  dainty  maiden, 

You  may  get  nothing  for  your  gains, 
But  if  you  catch  a  Leprachaun, 
Goold,  it  will  reward  your  pains." 

the  romantic  and  visionary,  ever  yearning 
for  something  beyond  the  dull  tangible  reali- 
ties of  every-day  life,  there  is  exceeding  fas- 
cination in  the  brain-revellings  of  Faery.  The 
components  of  Irish  character  render  it  pe- 
culiarly adapted  to  receive  and  cherish  such 
impressions ;  while  the  thousand-and-one  anecdotes  of  fairy 
agency,  vouchsafed  for  in  every  case  as  being  "  Gospel 
Truth,"  and  related  to  the  wondering  youngsters  by  some 
old  crone,  stamp  the  traditions  upon  their  minds  until  they 
have  become  a  portion  of  their  very  faith. 

The  Irish  fairies  are  sufficiently  numerous,  and  all  as  well 
classified,  their  positions  assigned,  and  their  duties  defined,  by 
j7//^r-naturalists,  as  though  they  were  actually  among  the  things 
that  be.  The  first  in  order,  as  well  as  in  usefulness,  are  the 
fairies  par  excellence,  or,  as  they  are  usually  denominated,  "  the 


Il8  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

good  people."  Their  occupations  are  of  the  most  multifarious 
description ;  and  here  let  me  call  attention  to  the  extraordinary 
similarity  to  be  found  between  the  imaginings  of  those  simple, 
unlettered  peasants,  and  the  sublimest  theories  of  philosophy. 
Grave,  book-learned  men  have  demonstrated  the  principle  of 
atomic  vitality  pervading  the  universe.  The  Irish  bog-cutter 
renders  the  theory  into  practice,  and  gives  the  imagination 
locality ;  myriads  of  fairies,  he  is  taught  to  believe,  are  inces- 
santly engaged  carrying  on  the  business  of  universal  nature. 
Troops  of  them  are  filching  the  perfume  from  the  morning  air, 
to  feed  therewith  the  opening  blossoms ;  thousands  of  tiny 
atomies  the  while  gently  forcing  the  bud  into  existence ;  the 
warm  sunbeams  are  scattered  over  the  chilly  earth,  borne  on 
fairy  pinions  ;  fairy-laden,  too,  the  gentle  rain  is  carried,  drop 
by  drop,  plunging  into  the  petals  of  a  thirsty  flower ;  the  little 
messenger  leaves  his  welcome  load,  then  flies  back  to  aid  his 
brethren.  Thus  the  whole  course  of  nature's  being  is  supposed 
to  be  conducted  by  this  invisible  agency ;  apart  from  the  phi- 
losophy of  the  matter,  one  must  acknowledge  that  those  bright 
creations  contain  within  them  the  very  soul  of  poetry. 

There  are  various  other  individuals  of  the  fairy  genus,  —  the 
Banshee,  the  Puckaun,  the  Fetch,  or  visionary  reappearance  of 
one  dearly  loved  immediately  after  death,  the  most  touchingly 
beautiful  conception  of  all.  My  present  intention  is  to  illus- 
trate the  position  in  Fairydom,  occupation,  and  general  charac- 
teristics of  the  Leprachaun.  He  is  a  fellow  of  no  small  impor- 
tance, as,  in  addition  to  his  regular  trade,  that  of  fairy  shoemaker, 
he  is  the  custodian  of  all  hidden  treasure,  knows  the  whereabouts 
of  -every  concealed  hoard,  and  is,  consequently,  as  much  sought 
after  as  the  gold  itself.  The  tradition  goes  that  if  you  catch 


FAIRY   GOLD:   AN    IRISH    SKETCH. 

a  Leprachaun, —  a  feat  not  easily  accomplished,  as  he  must  be 
taken  when  wide  awake,  —  then  countless  gold  may  be  secured 
for  his  ransom  ;  but  if  you  touch  a  sleeping  Leprachaun,  the 
penalty  is  to  have  your  cattle  bewitched,  and  your  eldest  child 
an  omadhaun  (Anglice,  idiot).  There  is  something  chivalrous 
in  that  same  respect  for  a  sleeping  antagonist. 

However,  a  Leprachaun  once  in  your  power,  you  may  keep 
him  close  prisoner  .until  he  reveals  the  place  where  treasure 
is  concealed  ;  but  you  must  have  your  wits  about  you,  or  the 
cunning  little  rascal  will  be  sure  to  cheat  you.  *One  thing  is 
in  your  favor,  he  is  bound  to  answer  truly  to  every  question. 

Now,  having  introduced  my  subject,  let  me  tell  you  what 
Tim  Duff  got  by  rinding  a  Leprachaun. 

When  I  first  saw  Tim,  his  appearance  was  certainly  much 
more  picturesque  than  elegant.  His  tournure  could  not  be 
called  metropolitan.  He  was  supporting  with  his  shoulder  the 
side  of  a  little  sheebeen-house,  called,  with  the  usual  conflict- 
ing combination,  "  The  Duck  and  Griddle  "  ;  his  hands  were 
listlessly  "  put  away,"  one  in  his  untenanted  breeches-pocket, 
and  the  other  in  the  breast  of  what,  from  its  situation  only, 
we  must  conclude  to  be  his  vest  ;  his  coat,  a  huge  frieze,  — 
in  the  dog-days,  remember, —fell  negligently  off  from  his 
brawny  shoulders,  discovering  his  "  Irish "  —  I  don't  think  I 
should  be  justified  in  appending  "linen"  ;  corduroy  "smalls," 
patched  at  the  knees  with  material  so  different  from  the  origi- 
nal stuff  that  it  must  have  required  considerable  ingenuity  to 
procure  it  ;  his  thick  woollen  stockings  were  minus  the  entire 
feet,  the  deficiency  being  made  up  with  straw,  causing  com- 
fort in  the  wear,  and  a  sort  of  sliding  scale  in  the  article  of 
fit,  as  a  straw  or  two  more  or  less  made  all  the  difference. 


120  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

One  of  his  stockings  had  slipped  down  from  under  the  piece 
of  twine  which  gartered  it,  but,  with  stoical  indifference,  he 
let  it  take  its  course,  justly  imagining  that  if  he  pulled  it  up 
it  would,  most  likely,  fall  down  again  ;  so  there  it  lay,  fes- 
tooned in  easy  carelessness  around  a  huge,  muscular,  and 
curiously  hairy  calf.  Leisurely  and  with  epicurean  gusto  he 
smoked  a  dhudieen,  or  short  pipe,  black  with  service,  and 
in  dangerous  proximity  to  his  nose,  which  seemed  to  have 
turned  itself  up  to  get  out  of  the  way  ;  singing  between  puffs, 
for  his  own  immediate  gratification,  a  self-laudatory  song,  the 
burden  of  which  went  to  prove,  beyond  all  manner  of  doubt, 
that  he  was  a  most  extraordinary  individual. v  Here  it  is:  — 

THE   SLASHIN'   BLADE. 

TOM'S   DITTY. 

Or  a  !  thin — « — na  (a  sort  of  bagpipe  drone  to  begin  with}. 
Yu  nice  young  maid-ens,  where-e'er  you  be, 
Come  gather  round  an'  attind  to  me; 
A  sportin'  offur  I  'm  goin'  to  make, 
It's  the  heart" an'  hand  iv  a  rovin'  rake. 
An'  that  Vmeself  that's  come  to  the  fore; 
Me  age  is  twinty,  an'  a  little  more. 
I  won't  owe  much  whin  all  me  debts  is  paid, 
An'  I  am  accountid  a  slashin'  blade. 

Or  a  !  thin — n — na. 

The  highest  bidder  shall  have  the  prize, 
The  sweetest  lips  or  the  brightest  eyes; 
I  '11  go  dirt  chape  to  the  twinties,  round, 
But  for  each  year  afthur  I  '11  have  twinty  pound. 
I  'm  strong  an'  hearty,  I  'm  sound  win'  an'  limb, 
I  can  fight  an'  wrassle,  too,  —  dance,  drink,  an'  swim; 
Make  love,  make  hay,  an'  use  both  scythe  an'  spade, 
An'  the  girls  all  say  that  I'm  a  slashin'  blade. 


FAIRY  GOLD:   AN    IRISH   SKETCH.  121 

Ora  !  thin — n — na. 

Bid,  my  hearties,  iv  I  'm  to  your  taste, 
I  '11  rise  the  market  iv  yez  don't  make  haste ; 
There  's  a  young  heart-breaker  wid  a  rovin'  eye, 
That  I  'd  sell  my  sowl  to,  iv  she  'd  only  buy. 
'T  is  Molly  Rooney  is  the  girl  -I  mane, 
If  she  comes  near  me,  why  I  'm  bothered  clane ! 
O  murther!  there,  I've  done,  you've  spil'd  my  thrade, 
Do  what  you  will  wid  your  slashin'  blade ! 

The  easy  nonchalance  of  the  ragamuffin,  and  the  delicious 
indifference  with  which  he  seemed  to  regard  all  sublunary 
matters,  attracted  my  attention,  and  urged  me  to  make  some 
inquiries  about  him. 

"  Barty,"  said  I  to  "  mine  host,"  with  whom  I  happened 
to  be  on  terms  of  peculiar  intimacy,  for  he  knew  the  lurking- 
places  of  the  "  best  trout  in  the  stream,"  and  could  point  out 
the  lodging  of  a  "  big  fish "  with  singular  accuracy ;  added  to 
which,  he  had  a  "  small  thrifle  "  of  whiskey,  that,  between  you 
and  me,  had  never  troubled  the  gauger's  stick,  and  it  was  n't 
a  bit  the  worse  for  that ;  besides,  an  uncommonly  pretty  — 
But  never  mind,  that  don't  belong  to  this  story.  "Barty,"  said 
I,  "  who  is  that  devil-may-care-looking  genius  outside  ? " 

"  I  know  who  you  mane  widout  lookin',  sir,"  replied  Barty, 
winking  significantly;  "that's  a  karacthur." 

"A  karacthur!" 

"  Divil  a  doubt  ov  it.  Why,  shure  an'  that 's  neither  more 
nor  less  than  Tim  Duff  himself,"  said  Barty,  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  had  just  given  a  piece  of  astounding  intelligence. 
Finding  that  I  did  not  receive  the  announcement  of  the  fact 
with  the  slightest  appearance  of  awe,  he  continued,  in  a  bless- 
your-ignorance  sort  of  a  tone,  "  A-thin,  don't  you  know  Tim 
Duff?" 


122  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

"I  certainly  have  not  that  honor." 

"Not  Tim?" 

"  Not  Tim  ! " 

"  Duff,  that  was  ruinated  horse  and  foot  with  too  much  good 
luck,  by  a  blaggard  Leprachaun  !  The  saints  keep  us,  I  did  n't 
mane  any  offince  ! " 

The  anticipation  of  hearing  a  fairy  adventure  aroused  me, 
and,  humbly  confessing  my  ignorance  both  of  Mr.  Duff  and 
his  experience,  I  solicited  an  explanation. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  Barty,  with  what  I 
thought  was  rather  an  interested  mixing  up  of  circumstances. 
"  I  '11  dhraw  a  half  a  pint  of  potteen,  to  begin  wid,  and  Tim 
shall  tell  you  all  about  it  himself." 

Well,  in  due  time  the  potteen  came,  and  with  it  came  the 
renowned  Duff,  when  he  gave  me  the  following  account  of  his 
lucky  ruination. 

"  You  must  know,  sir,  that  about  a  matther  ov  five  years 
ago,  come  next  Michaelmas,  there  wasn't  a  tidier  boy  nor 
meself  to  be  found  in  the  country.  I  had  an  elegant  farm, 
wid  lashins  an'  leavins  of  everything  ;  a  hungry  man  niver 
entered  my  doors  an'  left  it  wid  the  same  complaint.  My 
rint  was  niver  axed  for  twice,  an'  be  the  same  token,  I  could 
bate  any  spalpeen  of  me  age  at  hurlin',  kickin'  foot- ball, 
drinkin'  whiskey,  thrashin'  the  flure  wid  a  purty  collieen  in  a 
jig,  or  thrashin'  the  sauce  out  ov  an  impident  vagabone  in  a 
faction  fight  ;  an'  to.  crown  all,  I  was  miles  deep  in  love  wid 
the  bluest  eyed,  sweetest  tongued,  tinderest  hearted  girl  in  the 
place.  The  heavens  be  her  bed,  she  's  in  glory  now.  Lost, 
lost  to  me  ;  an'  me  own  doin'  !  O  Mary  ! " 

There  was  a  slight  pause  in  Tim's  narrative.     One  big  tear 


FAIRY   GOLD:    AN    IRISH    SKETCH.  123 

stood  for  an  instant  in  each  eye,  and  I  began  to  tremble  for 
his  philosophy,  when  he  suddenly  seized  the  pewter  measure, 
and  as  the  tears,  resolving  themselves  into  two  large  drops, 
fell  into  it,  took  a  terrible  long  pull  at  the  fiery  liquid,  ex- 
claiming, with  an  approving  smack,  as  he  set  the  vessel 
down,  — 

"  Well,  any  way,  there  's  comfort  in  that." 

Resuming  his  story,  he  proceeded  :  — 

"  The  fact  of  it  was,  sir,  the  divil  a  one  ov  me  knew  how 
happy  I  was  at  all  at  all,  until  it  was  every  bit  gone  ;  an'  so 
you  may  aisily  suppose  that  what  was  left  did  n't  do  me 
much  good.  You  see,  I  was  n't  continted  wid  havin'  enough, 
but  I  was  always  wan  tin'  somethin'  more  ;  at  last,  I  had  a 
stroke  ov  luck  that  made  me  fortune,  an',  more  betoken, 
broke  me  complately  at  the  same  time.  Envy,  sir,  and  cove- 
tousness,  them  was  my  destruction  !  I  could  n't  see  a  betther 
farm  than  mine,  but  I  longed  for  it.  I  never  met  a  man 
betther  off  than  myself,  but  I  hated  him  for  it  ;  everlastingly 
turnin'  an'  twistin',  an'  huntin'  about  in  me  own  mind  to 
thry  an'  think  ov  some  way  to  make  money  in  a  hurry, 
thinkin',  like  a  poor  fool  as  I  was,  that  if  I  had  plenty  of 
riches  I  should  never  know  a  care.  It  is  foolish  thinkin 
so,  sir,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Very,"  I  replied,  with  as  sententious  a  shrug  as  I  could 
produce;  the  mental  conclusion  to  which  I  arrived  being 
uninteresting  to  any  one  but  myself. 

"Well,  sir,"  continued  he,  "to  make  a  long  story  short,  one 
summer  night  as  I  was  frettin'  myself  to  fiddle-strings  about 
what  was  always  uppermost  in  my  mind,  I  fell  asleep  in  a 
hurry,  and  was  just  as  suddenly  woke  up  again  by  the  sound 


124  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

of  a  little  tap !  tap !  tap !  an'  a  weeshy  voice,  a  thrifle  louder 
nor  a  cricket,  singin'  away  as  merry  as  a  taykittle.  Hollo ! 
what  the  puck  is  that,  thinks  I.  I  gave  a  sideway  squint 
out  ov  bed,  and  what  do  you  suppose  I  saw  ?  What  but  a 
Leprachaun  atop  ov  the  table,  sittin'  on  a  crust  of  bread  and 
leatherin'  away  upon  a  lapstone  about  the  size  •  of  a  barley- 
corn. O,  murther !  what  a  bump  my  heart  guv,  right  up  agin 
the  roof  ov  me  mouth,  when  I  saw  him !  There,  right  forninst 
me,  was  what  I  had  so  often  longed  for,  or  at  least  the  means 
of  gettin'  it.  His  back  was  towards  me,  but  I  was  afeard 
to  breathe,  lest  the  sound  should  start  him  off,  for  Leprachauns 
is  mighty  sharp  at  hearin'.  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  puzzlin'  myself 
wid  thinkin'  how  the  divil  I  could  manage  to  invaigle  him,  I 
sees  him  get  up  from  his  work,  walk  quietly  across  the  table, 
and  try  to  climb  up  the  outside  of  a  jug  that  had  a  spoonful 
of  whiskey  at  the  bottom.  Bedad,  it  was  as  much  as  I  could 
do  to  keep  from  burstin'  out,  to  see  the  antics  of  him.  He 
could  n't  manage  it  at  all.  At  last,  what  does  the  cunning 
little  blaggard  do,  but  he  rowls  a  pitaty  over  to  the  side  of 
the  jug,  and  gets  atop  ov  it. 

"You  may  have  some  idea  of  the  weight  of  the  ruffian, 
when  I  tell  you  that,  though  it  was  an  uncommon  soft  pitaty, 
he  did  n't  even  make  a  dint  in  the  skin. 

"  He  was  elegantly  fixed  then  ;  he  could  just  lean  over  the 
top  ov  the  jug,  and  dive  his  hat  down  to  the  bottom ;  an' 
then  he  began  to  bail  it  out,  and  drink  like  a  hungry  herrin'. 
Why,  sir,  he  must  have  brought  up  each  time  as  much  as 
would  stan'  in  the  eye  ov  a  sorrowful  flay. 

"Well,  whether  it  was  that  the  whiskey  was  above  fairy- 
proof,  or  that  the  pitaty  slipped  from  under  him,  I  don't  know, 


K/3 1 


£&ttftl&R4-ff.    /:> 


FAIRY   GOLD:   AN    IRISH   SKETCH.  12$ 

but  in  he  tumbled,  body  an'  breeches,  down  to  the  bottom  of 
the  jug.  The  minute  I  saw  that,  out  of  bed  I  jumped  and 
clapped  my  hand  atop  of  the  jug.  'Ha!  ha!  you  little  rag- 
amuffin ;  I  have  you,'  says  I. 

"  '  Let  me  go/  says  he  ;    '  I  'm  smothering ! ' 

4* '  Smother  away/  says  I ;  'the  divil  a  toe  you  stir  until 
you  tell  me  where  to  find  the  threasure.' 

" '  Is  it  a  threasure  you  want  ? '   says  he. 

"'It  just  is,  Misther  Leprachaun/  says  I. 

" '  You  shall  have  one/  says  he.  '  But  only  let  me  out ;  I  '11 
be  dhrowned  here  entirely.' 

"'Will  you  promise  me  that  you  won't  do  the  shabby 
thing  ? '  says  I. 

"'Yes/  says  he.  'But  make  haste,  for  I'm  getting  "as 
drunk  as  a  lord.'" 

"  Wid  that,  sir,  knowin'  he  could  n't  go  back  ov  his  word, 
I  put  in  my  finger,  the  bowld  Leprachaun  made  a  horse  ov 
it,  an'  I  fished  him  out.  Poor  fellow,  he  was  very  drunk,  to 
be  sure  ! 

" '  Here 's  a  pickle/  says  he,  '  for  a  dacint  Leprachaun  to 
be  in/ 

" '  Sarves  you  right/  says  I.  '  What  business  had  you  to 
be  stalein'  a  man's  whiskey  ? ' 

"  '  Thrue  for  you,  Tim/  says  he.  '  Sperrits  will  be  me  ruin  ; 
av  I  don't  take  the  pledge,  I  'm  a  gone  fairy/ 

"'But  come/  says  I.     'About  this  threasure.' 

" '  Don't  hurry/  says  he  ;   '  misfortunes  come  time  enough/ 

" '  What  do  you  mane  by  misfortune  ? '    says  I. 

" '  You  '11  find  out  soon  enough,  if  you  must  have  this 
money/  says  he. 


126  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

"  '  Divil  may  care/  says  I. 

"'Well,  then,  Tim  Duff/  says  he,  'you  haven't  far  to  go. 
Twelve  feet  from  the  kitchen  door,  dig  twelve  feet  down,  and 
find  that  which  will  make  you  rich,  —  and  poor ! ' 

"'Thank  you,  —  long  life  to  you.' 

"  I  looked  round  an'  he  was  gone ;  went  out  like  a  candle 
puff.  The  broad  daylight  flashed  across  my  eyes,  an'  I  was 
sitting  up  in  bed  starin'  at  nothin'.  'Twelve  feet  down/  says 
I.  '  Now  or  never.'  So  up  I  gets,  takes  a  pickaxe  and  shovel, 
an'  without  sayin'  a  word  to  anybody,  dug  away  for  the  bare 
life.  After  about  an  hour's  work,  seein'  no  signs  of  the  threas- 
ure,  I  begun  to  think  that  it  was  dreaming  I  was  all  the  time, 
when  the  pick  struck  something  that  guv  a  clink.  Hurroo  ! 
thinks  I,  my  fortune 's  made.  With  fresh  will  I  shovelled 
away,  and  at  last,  by  dint  of  tremendous  exertion,  rather  than 
call  any  one  to  help  me,  I  succeeded  in  gettin'  a  big  earthen 
pot  up  to  the  surface,  rolled  it  into  the  house,  and,  throwing 
myself  into  a  chair,  pantin'  for  breath,  and  the  tears  rowlin' 
down  my  cheeks,  I  looked  at  it  for  as  good  as  an  hour. 

"  I  knew  it  contained  money,  but  I  could  n't  bring  my 
mind  to  smash  it  open.  Just  like  a  cat,  the  hungrier  she  is 
the  longer  she  plays  with  the  mouse.  At  last  I  started  up, 
got  my  shovel,  and  gave  the  pot  a  savage  crack.  Bash  !  it 
flew  into  a  thousand  pieces, '  and  out  splashed  a  beautiful 
yellow  shower  of  guineas.  I  '11  never  forget  the  shiver  of 
delight  the  sound  of  thim  guineas  sent  into  my  heart.  The 
Leprachaun  had  redeemed  his  word,  —  I  was  a  rich  man  ;  but 
the  remainder  of  his  promise  had  yet  to  be  fulfilled,  and  it 
was.  The  first  calamity  that  befell  me  began  upon  the  in- 
stant. In  liftin'  the  tremendous  weight,  I  twisted  somethin' 


FAIRY   GOLD:    AN    IRISH   SKETCH.  127 

inside  of  me  back,  that  has  nearly  driven  me  crazy  ever 
since,  and  all  the  physic  in  the  world  can't  put  it  straight 
again.  Then  I  removed  to  a  larger  farm,  where,  not  knowing 
the  land  as  well  as  that  I  was  used  to  all  my  life,  crop  after 
crop  failed.  But  the  crowning  curse  remains  to  be  told.  In 
the  pride  of  my  heart,  and  in  the  selfishness  of  increased 
means,  I  slighted  her  for  whom  I  would  have  died  before.  I 
deserted  —  killed  my  Mary.  No,  no ;  it  was  n't  me  that 
killed  her ;  it  was  the  gold,  —  the  accursed  gold  !  Well,  sir, 
after  her  death  an  unquenchable  thirst  came  on  me,  —  drink ! 
drink !  I  cared  for  nothing  else,  lived  for  nothing  else.  I 
need  n't  tell  you  how  that  swallows  up  everything.  Worse 
luck  followed  bad,  until  at  last  the  chair  my  mother  nursed 
me  in,  that  her  mother  nursed  her  in,  was  taken  from  my 
door  by  a  grasping  landlord.  And  I  stood  before  a  cold 
hearth,  and  an  empty  cupboard,  a  broken-hearted  man ! 

"  The  world  has  been  a  desert  to  me  ever  since,  but  I  have 
learnt  to  look  on  rain  and  sun  with  the  same  face." 


THE  HAWK'S  NEST. 


THE    HAWK'S    NEST. 

A   RIDE  IN  A   STRANGE  PATH. 
BY    GILBERT    BURLING. 

.  EFORE  these  hurrying  days  of  railroads,  travellers 
through  Virginia  made  their  journeyings  in  the 
slow  old  conveyance  of  the  stage-coach,  and  had 
time,  as  they  passed,  to  dwell  upon  the  natural 
beauties  of  the  way.  From  Kentucky,  and  the 
States  comprising  the  then  Southwest,  the  near- 
est route  to  the  Capitol  at  Washington  was  over  the  old  Vir- 
ginia Turnpike,  which  runs  along  the  Kanawha  River  from 
Charleston,  across  it  at  Gauley,  over  Gauley  Mountain,  and  be- 
side New  River  for  a  long  distance.  Henry  Clay  and  his  con- 
temporary lawgivers  used  to  take  this  road  on  their  annual  way 
to  their  seats  in  Congress  ;  and  therefore  it  happened,  in  their 
time,  that  the  magnificent  scenery  of  the  region  was  well  known 
to  them,  and  through  their  reports  celebrated  to  the  nature- 
loving  of  that  generation.  To-day  the  tide  of  travel  flows  else- 
where, and  the  only  visitors  to  these  scenes  are  the  few  whose 
business  brings  them  by  the  old  coach  line  from  Lewisburg  to 
Charleston,  or  Charleston  to  Lewisburg,  —  perchance  stray  tour- 
ists who  remember  to  have  heard  of  the  "  Hawk's  Nest "  from 
their  fathers. 

At  a  point  just  off  the  road,  and  some  seven  miles  from  the 


132  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

great  Falls  of  Kanawha,  this  great  rock  stands.  It  rises  more 
than  a  thousand  feet  straight  up  from  the  river-bed  to  an  equal 
height  with  the  mountain,  of  which  it  is  an  enormous,  grim  but- 
tress, frowning  over  the  immense  extent  of  country  it  surveys. 
Even  with  the  unimaginative  dwellers  thereabouts,  so  remark- 
able a  feature  in  the  landscape  cannot  wholly  Tail  of  romantic 
incidents,  or  legends  born  of  superstition.  Many  of  their  stories 
have  already  found  their  way  into  print,  but  I  am  not  aware 
that  the  veritable  incident  of  its  discovery  by  "curly-haired 
McClung  "  —  a  startling  incident  to  him  —  has  ever  been  pub- 
lished. 

The  exact  date  of  McClung's  adventure  seems  to  have  been 
forgotten,  but  I  have  it  on  the  authority  of  an  "  oldest  inhab- 
itant "  that  it  happened  on  a  certain  summer's  day  some  eighty 
odd  years  ago.  The  old  man  was  following  his  favorite  occupa- 
tion of  hunting  with  his  dogs,  when  he  unexpectedly  came  upon 
a  bear,  treed  at  very  close  quarters.  Being  so  placed  that  he 
could  not  "  draw  a  bead  "  on  a  vital  part  of  the  beast,  for  the 
leaves  and  branches  in  the  way,  and  fearing  that  Bruin  might 
jump  down  and  make  off  if  he  approached  too  nearly,  McClung 
was  moving  cautiously  backward,  step  by  step,  in  order  to  find 
an  opening  through  which  to  take  sure  aim,  when  he  chanced 
to  glance  behind  him,  and  find  himself  close  to  the  edge  of  an 
unsuspected  and  frightful  precipice,  over  which  another  step 
would  carry  him,  to  fall  whirling  through  the  blue  air,  hundreds 
of  feet  down  to  the  dashing  stream  below.  Terribly  startled,  he 
forgot  the  bear  on  the  instant,  and  rushed  away  from  the  dan- 
ger in  a  state  of  trepidation  no  other  peril  in  life  could  have 
caused  him.  It  is  even  said  that  he  took  to  his  bed  for  two 
entire  days,  before  he  could  recover  himself;  and  that  for  weeks 


THE    HAWK'S    NEST.  133 

after  he  could  not  muster  courage  to  look  again  over  the  precipice 
from  which  he  came  so  very  near  making  the  dread  "  last  leap." 

After  McClung's  discovery  the  rock  became  well  known  to 
the  hunters  of  the  Gauley,  who  named  it  the  Hawk's  Nest, 
either  from  its  commanding  position  and  inaccessibility  from 
below,  or  because  of  the  numerous  hawk's-nests  yearly  built  in 
the  convenient  caverns  which  enter  its  sides  a  little  way  below 
the  edge. 

Happening,  at  one  time  recently,  to  be  making  a  limited  tour 
of  observation  in  that  part  of  the  country,  I  had  an  opportunity 
to  make  a  sketch  of  this  famous  rock  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  river.  It  is  a  new  point  of  view,  from  which  the  rock  itself 
appears  the  most  prominent  feature  of  the  scene. 

I  had  been  riding  for  several  days  through  Fayette  County, 
back  of  Cotton  Mountain,  and  was  on  my  way  to  meet  an  .im- 
portant engagement  at  the  Kanawha  Falls,  when  I  found  the 
road  leading  me  very  near  the  desired  spot.  The  natives  told 
me  that  by  keeping  the  road  to  Miller's  Ferry  until  I  came  in 
sight  of  the  building  there,  I  would  find  a  mule-path  to  the  left, 
towards  down  the  river,  which  would  lead  me  where  I  could  get 
the  best  view  of  my  subject,  and  afterwards  to  the  Falls  by  a 
short  route. 

The  mule-path  proved  to  be  a  very  recent  one,  easily  found, 
and  I  struck  into  it  with  a  simple,  confident  feeling  of  satisfac- 
tion only  to  be  excused  by  want  of  experience  of  the  country  I 
was  in.  My  steed  was  a  quiet,  well-conditioned  animal,  which 
I  had  hired  from  a  farmer  at  the  Falls  a  few  days  previously  ; 
and  her  knowledge  that  her  head  was  turned  towards  home  was 
instantly  apparent  in  her  altered  gait,  —  leading  me  to  believe 
she  knew  the  road  we  had  entered  upon. 


134  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

By  the  time  we  (the  mare  and  I)  arrived  at  the  best  view  of 
the  rock,  the  path  had  become  so  bad  as  to  be  only  just  prac- 
ticable ;  and  with  a  mind  made  up  to  return  by  the  good  road 
over  Cotton  Mountain,  —  on  the  theory  of  "  the  longest  way 
round  is  the  shortest  way  back,"  —  I  dismounted,  tied  my,  or 
rather  Farmer  Muggleston's,  gray  mare  to  a  tree,  and  sought 
the  most  effective  point  from  which  to  make  the  sketch.  At 
length  I  determined  upon  a  seat  on  a  convenient  stump,  from 
whence  the  Hawk's  Nest  seemed  to  overhang  the  sturdier  but 
less  graceful  cliffs  about  it.  Along  its  edge,  where  the  light 
clouds  of  river  mist  seemed  hanging,  were  a  few  trees,  ragged 
and  small  as  seen  from  below  ;  and  under  it  great  black  seams, 
or  scars,  divided  the  ledges  of  yellow  sandstone  with  openings 
like  caves,  at  whose  yawning  mouths  lay  bands  of  reddish  earths, 
or  pebbly  conglomerate,  to  which  cedars  clung  here  and  there, 
grasping  the  very  face  of  the  precipice,  and  in  the  effort  dis- 
torting themselves  into  various  clutching  forms,  holding  on  for 
life.  Lower  down  column-like  rocks  rested  on  tremendous 
masses  of  whitish  limestone,  which  became  smoother  and  less 
seamed  as  it  approached  the  base  at  the  river-bank,  where  trees, 
towering  nearly  two  hundred  feet,  looked  only  well-grown  bushes 
by  contrast  with  the  height  above,  in  front  of  which,  like  guar- 
dian spirits  of  the  gorge,  a  pair  of  large  hawks  kept  watch  and 
ward  in  airy  circlings,  on  unmoving  wings. 

Soon,  too  much  interested  in  this  magnificent  study  to  watch 
the  western  skies,  I  found  a  thunder- squall  upon  me  unawares, 
—  unnoticed  until  it  began  to  throw  its  broad  black  shadows 
over  the  scene,  and  to  open  thunder-charged  columbiads  among 
the  resounding  echoes  of  the  New  River  hills.  Then  the  rain 
put  a  temporary  stop  to  my  work,  and  so  delayed  me  that  by  the 


THE    HAWK'S    NEST.  135 

time  my  drawing  was  roughly  completed  it  was  half  past  four 
o'clock.  In  consequence  of  this  delay  it  was  hardly  possible  to 
get  to  the  Falls  before  dark  by  the  Cotton  Mountain  road.  The 
mare  could  easily  travel  three  miles  an  hour  through  the  path. 
There  were  still  three  hours  of  daylight,  even  if  the  clouds  the 
squall  had  left  behind  did  not  disperse  ;  and  so,  by  keeping  on,  I 
could  reasonably  hope  to  reach  my  destination  in  about  two 
hours  and  a  half,  if,  as  I  had  been  told,  the  distance  was  only 
seven  miles  from  where  I  struck  in.  If  it  proved  nine  miles,  it 
would  still  be  accomplished  in  time.  Besides,  I  had  been  reas- 
sured, while  sketching,  by  the  passing  down  the  path  of  a  ridden 
mule  and  a  led  one.  For  these  reasons  I  decided  to  keep  on,  in 
spite  of  the  bad  road  and  threatening  weather.  To  prepare  for 
rough  riding  with  my  various  sketching  impedimenta  necessi- 
tated some  further  loss  of  time,  but  it  was  not  long  before  I  was 
mounted  and  on  the  way,  which  shortly  became  very  villanous, 
for  the  old  mare  went  constantly  stumbling  over  sharp  stones, 
sliding  down  clayey  hills,  or  walking  cautiously  in  the  narrow 
path  as  it  led  along  the  steep  side  of  a  precipitous  bank,  or  sur- 
mounted an  outlying  bowlder  of  the  great  piled-up  rocks  to  the 
left,  above.  More  than  once  again  I  thought  of  turning  back, 
but  was  always  encouraged  to  go  on  by  seeing  the  fresh  tracks 
of  the  mules  before  me.  I  must  also  confess  to  a  certain  fool- 
ish, pleasurable  excitement,  at  the  spice  of  danger  in  such  rough 
riding.  The  old  steed,  too,  was  on  her  mettle,  and  showed  signs 
of  excitement  by  the  way  in  which  she  pricked  up  her  ears  and 
snorted  with  satisfaction  at  every  bit  of  good  road.  And  then, 
who  could  be  blind  to  the  new  beauty  of  these  woods,  so  differ- 
ent from  the  beauty  of  the  Northern  forests,  to  me  much  better 
known  ? 


136  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

Great  magnolia  poplars,  with  towering  stems,  grew  up  from 
the  right-hand  side  far  below,  and  only  put  out  their  luxuriously 
clothed  branches  when  they  could  come  to  a  view  of  the  sky  on 
like  terms  with  the  growth  higher  up  on  the  hillside.  Through 
their  crowded  trunks  the  river  could  be  seen  dashing  and  foam- 
ing with  a  rush  and  a  roar  which  continually  deceived  me  with 
ideas  that  the  Falls  themselves  were  very  near  at  hand.  There 
was  but  little  underbrush,  except  in  places  where  huge  square, 
green-capped  bowlders  lay  nearly  concealed  by  groups  of  the 
great  Southern  laurels,  which  thrust  up  their  long  glossy  leaves, 
as  if  in  conspiracy  with  the  mosses  covering  their  tops,  and 
drooping  about  them  so  as  to  hide  their  hard  gray  sides.  These 
rhododendrons  were  all  in  blossom,  and  seemed  further  inten- 
tioned  by  displaying  their  rosy  beauty  to  most  advantage, — 
lavishing  their  flowers  in  contrast  to  the  darkest  shadows,  or 
against  the  neutral  blackness  of  the  backgrounds  of  hemlock- 
trees  which  stood  in  clumps  through  the  wood.  An  hour  and  a 
half  of  such  riding  brought  me  to  a  small  opening  in  the  forest, 
and  sharp  upon  a  "  branch,"  or  mountain  brook,  rushing  like  a 
river,  with  the  accumulated  waters  of  a  dozen  streamlets,  swollen 
by  the  recent  rains. 

The  ford  across  looked  too  dangerous  for  a  stranger  to  at- 
tempt, and  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  retrace  my  steps,  even 
then,  had  not  the  ringing  strokes  of  an  axe  told  of  possible  assist- 
ance from  a  short  distance  above.  Leaving  the  mare  "  hitched  " 
to  a  laurel-bush,  I  sought  the  wood-chopper,  and  after  much 
tribulation  in  scrambling  through  the  under-brush  contrived  to 
get  sight  of  him,  and  of  some  other  workmen  who  were  erecting 
a  shanty  on  the  farther  side.  The  stream  brawled  so  noisily 
that  it  was  quite  impossible  for  the  men  to  hear  what  I  said  or 


THE    HAWK'S    NEST.  137 

shouted,  and  it  was  not  until  I  found  a  fallen  tree  on  which  to 
cross  that  they  comprehended  who  I  was,  or  what  I  wanted. 
On  learning  that  I  was  a  stranger,  one  of  them  kindly  volun- 
teered to  bring  my  horse  over.  When  he  had  ridden  through 
the  ford,  which  he  did  with  enviable  address  and  caution,  he 
commended  my  prudence  in  not  attempting  the  crossing  at 
such  a  time,  for  he  said  that  one  of  the  mules  which  had  just 
preceded  me  to  the  shanty  had  been  carried  off  his  feet  by  the 
rush,  and  was  very  nearly  swept  out  into  the  river.  He  in- 
formed me  that  the  work  going  on  was  for  the  new  railroad, 
and  that  the  mule-path  had  only  been  cut  for  the  use  of  the 
engineers  and  surveyors  of  the  corps  of  construction. 

It  was  now  so  near  night  that  I  left  my  chance  friend  with 
hurried  thanks,  and  rode  on  so  quickly  that  I  forgot  to  ask  him 
how  far  I  had  yet  to  go,  or  what  sort  of  riding  I  might  expect. 
It  was  grandly  picturesque,  but  even  more  up  and  down 
hill  than  before.  Lofty  pines  rose  in  vain  attempts  to  thrust 
themselves  higher  than  the  perpendicular  rocks  behind  them, 
while  creepers  and  parasitical  vines  clustered  so  thick  about 
the  tree-trunks,  that  the  hidden  roots  of  them  seemed  to  start 
from  the  far  depths  below.  At  length  we  ascended  the  moun- 
tain-side somewhat  higher  than  usual,  and  came  quite  unexpect- 
edly upon  the  most  dangerous  piece  of  path  I  ever  saw. 

An  enormous  wall  of  shaly  rock  reared  itself  perpendicu- 
larly high  up  on  the  left  side  ;  before  us  ran  the  path,  —  not 
a  foot  wide  was  it,  —  the  mere  edge  of  a  shifting  bank  of  frag- 
ments, loose,  sliding,  and  crumbling,  built  of  the  fallen  scales  of 
the  shale.  Having  come  so  unwarned  upon  this  perilous  spot, 
concealed  as  it  was  by  the  curve  at  its  approach,  the  mare  had 
already  advanced  too  far  upon  the  narrow  part  of  it  to  retreat ; 


138  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

for  in  an  attempt  to  turn  around,  she  would  be  certain  to  push 
herself  off  the  ledge. 

On  the  right  hand  was  a  declivity  of  unstable  fragments  slip- 
ping to  the  water's  edge  ;  on  the  other  side,  the  rock  —  straight  up. 

There  was  no  alternative.    . 

We  must  go  on. 

I  saw  that  a  man  could  pass  to  the  firm  ground  on  the  other 
side  of  the  cliff  safely  enough,  if  his  head  did  not  get  whirling, 
and  his  nerves  were  steady.  There  might  be  room  for  a  horse's 
feet ;  possibly,  only  possibly,  for  the  projections  of  the  body  — 
the  shoulders,  the  belly,  and  the  thighs  —  to  pass  the  rock.  I 
dismounted,  slung  the  satchel  and  sketching-traps  over  my  own 
shoulders,  took  off  the  near  stirrup,  and  fastened  the  projecting 
flap  of  the  old  saddle  down  with  its  leather,  that  it  might  not 
touch  the  rock,  drew  the  bridle  over  the  old  gray's  head,  and  led 
her  along  the  little  ledge  with  the  momentary  expectation  of 
seeing  her  sliding,  rolling,  bounding,  crashing  down  into  the 
river,  three  hundred  feet  below.  She  was  sure-footed,  that  old 
mare  ;  she  balanced  herself  like  a  gymnast ;  the  ledge  did  not 
give  way  as  she  trod  it,  but,  as  she  lifted  each  hoof,  the  path 
crumbled  from  the  place  where  it  had  rested,  and  the  fragments 
rustled  down  the  bank,  detaching  other  fragments  in  their 
course,  until  the  whole  mass  appeared  sliding  away,  with  a 
sound  like  stormy  wind  among  the  trees. 

We  had  crossed  safely,  but  the  path  was  gone 

Ordinary  risks  seemed  as  nothing  now,  and  we  pushed  on 
rapidly  as  the  woods  became  more  open.  When  we  had  passed 
the  mountain,  I  again  thought  I  heard  the  distant  roar  of  the 
Falls,  and  my  spirits  rose  a  bit  in  spite  of  the  rain,  which  was 
coming  down  briskly. 


THE    HAWK'S    NEST.  139 

For  the  last  hundred  yards  the  path  had  been  actually  smooth, 
and  wide  enough  to  trot  on,  when  it  suddenly  went  down  hill. 

At  the  moment  of  reaching  the  bottom,  where  alder-bushes 
grew  dense  on  the  banks  on  either  side,  a  most  villanous-looking 
man  started  out  into  the  path  ahead  of  me. 

He  was  clad  in  an  old  overcoat  of  Rebel  gray,  and  looked  a 
typical  bush-whacker  as  he  stood  regarding  my  approach  with 
evil  glances.  It  occurred  to  me  instantly  that  he  might  not  be 
alone,  —  might  be  accompanied  by  other  desperate  fellows,  and 
mean  mischief.  It  was  an  unpleasant  shock  ;  but  the  impulse 
of  the  moment  being  to  "open  the  ball "  if  necessary,  I  pushed 
my  horse  up  to  him,  and  asked,  — 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  Falls  ?  " 

"  Dunno,  rightly,  how  fur." 

"  Is  it  two  miles  ?  " 

"  Heap  more  'n  that.  Reckon  it 's  three.  They  '11  tell  yer 
down  ter  the  shanty." 

There  are  more  of  them  then,  thought  I ;  and  in  my  nervous- 
ness I  took  my  revolver  out  of  its  already  convenient  place  in 
my  belt,  and  put  it  in  the  side-pocket  of  my  overcoat,  as  I  rode 
rapidly  on  :  for  the  road  was  again  good  for  a  piece.  Soon  I 
came  upon  the  shanty  the  man  had  spoken  of.  There  were  a 
crowd  of  laborers  gathered  about  it,  —  a  railroad  gang,  as  I  saw 
at  a  glance.  They  were  not  dangerous,  but  they  were  unpleas- 
ant and  lawless ;  so,  although  they  shouted  to  me  to  stop,  I  only 
dashed  along  faster,  until  the  path  grew  as  bad  as  usual. 

It  was  now  after  seven  o'clock ;  only  half  an  hour  more  of 
daylight,  and  at  least  three  miles  more  of  this  work.  I  began 
to  feel  as  if  I  were  lost,  and  must  spend  the  night  in  the  woods ; 
which  is  a  very  disagreeable  thing  to  do  in  the  rain  and  alone. 


140  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Now,  the  road  led  down  close  by  the  river,  across  a  bank  of  sand  ; 
and  then  in  full  view  of  a  rough-built  house  of  new  boards,  with 
cheerful  lights  shining  through  the  windows.  As  I  rode  up  to 
it,  a  negro  man  came  to  the  door.  I  could  get^over  the  bad  part 
of  the  path,  he  thought,  before  it  became  too  dark,  if  I  hurried 
on,  —  from  there  it  was  only  a  mile  to  the  Falls,  and  a  good 
road.  From  this  house  the  trail  was  plain  for  a  few  hundred 
yards,  when  it  led  out  on  a  flat  rock,  and  was  lost  in  the  river, 
now  very  high  with  the  freshet.  I  turned  back  and  cast  over 
the  ground,  thinking  it  possible  that  the  true  path  was  up  on  the 
hillside,  but,  failing  to  find  it  there,  concluded  to  return  to  the 
house  of  the  cheerful  lights,  and  to  ask  a  shelter  for  the  night. 
The  negro  again  came  forward  in  answer  to  my  summons,  and, 
upon  hearing  my  request  for  a  lodging,  referred  me  to  the  Cap- 
tain, who  presently  appeared  at  the  door  from  an  inner  room,  to 
give  me  a  polite  but  firm  refusal.  Bright  hopes  were  dashed 
in  an  instant  ;  but,  being  in  extremis,  I  urged  my  forlorn  con- 
dition, and  presented  my  card,  with  an  explanation  of  the  cir- 
cumstances which  led  me  to'  seek  the  hospitality  of  strangers  in 
such  a  persistent  manner.  On  learning  that  I  was  not  a  "  rail- 
road-man," the  Captain  relented,  told  the  negro,  Tom,  to  look 
out  for  my  traps,  and  ushered  me  into  his  sitting-room,  comfort- 
able with  a  warm  fire  and  the  incense  from  several  pipes  of 
fragrant  Virginia  weed.  The  smokers  were  the  associates  of 
the  Captain  in  his  surveying  corps,  and  he  soon  put  me  at  ease 
by  the  perfect  courtesy  of  his  informal  introduction  to  them, 
and  to  a  superabundant  supper,  made  ready  by  Tom  in  a  few 
minutes. 

To  my  surprise  and  delight,  he  seated  me  at  a  table  furnished 
in  the  most  highly  civilized  style. 


THE    HAWK'S    NEST.  141 

A  damask  tablecloth  adorned  with  a  service  of  polished  silver, 
and  gold-edged  china  of  a  delicate  pattern,  all  laden  with  choice 
edibles,  of  which  eggs,  nicely  fried  bacon,  creamy  wheat-biscuits, 
and  delicious  coffee  formed  the  staple  articles  of  what  would 
be  a  goodly  feast  at  any  time,  but  doubly  and  thrice  welcome  to 
one  who,  only  a  few  minutes  before,  had  expected  to  go  supper- 
less  to  bed  in  the  rocky  forest  under  a  coverlet  of  drizzle. 

How  I  appreciated  all  this,  those  good  fellows  can  never 
know !  One,  not  in  like  straits,  can  but  dimly  imagine  the  sense 
of  real  comfort  I  felt,  as  I  sat  in  that  luxurious  chair,  with  the 
white-jacketed  Tom  ready  to  hand  more  biscuits,  or  refill  my 
coffee-cup  ;  the  rain  the  while  pouring  down  in  a  great  deluge 
on  the  sounding  roof. 

And  when  bedtime  came,  instead  of  letting  me  take  my  blan- 
ket in  a  corner,  as  I  proposed,  Monseigneur  must  needs  share 
his  bed  with  me,  —  a  stranger.  Truly  my  "lines  had  fallen  in 
pleasant  places,"  and,  giving  way  to  the  benign  fates,  I  consented 
to  lay  me  down  to  sleep  between  the  fair  sheets,  where  Morpheus 
straightway  embraced  me,  and  sent  me  visions,  now  and  again, 
of  overhanging  rocks,  narrow  paths,  gray  mares,  and  blear-eyed 
fellows  in  lonely  lurking-places.  The  night  passed  thus,  very 
restlessly,  as'  night  often  does  to  one  whose  nerves  have  been 
on  the  strain  of  novel  sights  and  thoughts.  When  the  morning 
came,  the  rain  still  fell,  and  it  was  late  when  I  took  leave,  I  hope 
not  forever,  of  the  excellent  gentlemen  into  whose  pleasant  so- 
ciety the  mule-path  had  led  me. 

I  found  the  trail  very  difficult  to  make  out,  even  in  broad  day, 
at  the  place  where  I  had  been  at  fault  the  night  before.  It  was 
confused  by  numerous  blind  tracks  leading  to  it,  and  was  only 
plain  when  it  merged  into  the  unmistakable  railroad  embank- 


142  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

ment,  which  had  been  pushed  from  the  other  end.  The  road 
along  this  was  easily  passable,  until  I  came  to  a  piece  of  fresh 
work,  where  I  was  obliged  to  dismount  in  order  to  pass  along  a 
steep  hillside  where  there  had  been  a  great  sand-blast  which 
had  filled  the  way  with  sharp  debris  not  yet  levelled  off.  Trust- 
ing in  luck  to  cross  it, — luck  had  so  favored  me  in  my  ride 
hitherto,  —  I  attempted  to  lead  the  mare  over  the  cruel  place. 
It  was  not  enough  that  she  had  stood  supperless  in  the  pelting 
rain  all  night,  that  she  had  carried  me  all  the  day  before  on  one 
feed  of  oats ;  'but  I  must  put  her  at  this  new  trial.  It  was 
shameful,  and  I  was  near  getting  my  deservings  ;  for,  in  stepping 
to  the  farther  side  of  a  cut,  I  slipped  and  fell,  my  leg  catching  in 
a  hole  under  and  between  the  stones.  For  an  instant  I  was 
held  motionless,  while  my  horse  stood  on  an  insecure  piece  of 
rock  above  me,  gathering  and  balancing  herself  to  step  down 
where  I  lay,  helplessly  dreading  the  descent  of  her  iron-shod 
feet,  of  which  at  least  one  crushed  and  mangled  limb  would  be 
the  inevitable  result.  By  a  desperate  effort  I  succeeded  in 
dragging  myself  out  of  the  hole  at  the  very  instant  the  terrible 
hoofs  came  down. 

Poor  old  mare  !  Her  forelegs  slipped  from  under  her  into 
the  same  trap  where  I  came  to  temporary  grief;  and  she  came 
down  heavily  on  the  jagged  points  of  the  fresh-broken  stones, 
struggled  for  a  moment,  groaning  sadly,  and  then,  by  a  great 
effort,  managed  to  regain  her  footing  and  get  on  safe  ground, 
where  she  stood,  trembling  on  her  gashed  limbs,  and  gazing  at 
her  torn  flank,  as  it  heaved  with  pain  and  fear.  She  had,  how- 
ever, sustained  no  disabling  injury,  and  I  ventured  to  remount 
her,  and  proceed  at  a  slow  pace  to  the  Falls,  and  thence  to 
Farmer  Muggleston's  stable-yard. 


THE    HAWK'S    NEST.  143 

To  this  farmer's  praise  be  it  said,  that  he  did  not  make  the 
injury  to  his  property,  severe  but  not  dangerous,  the  excuse  for 
extorting  a  large  sum  in  damages  ;  but,  believing  them  the  result 
of  a  pure  accident,  accepted  so  small  a  compensation  as  a  five- 
dollar  bill  with  a  good  grace  that  many  of  his  Northern  superiors 
in  education  might  do  well  to  emulate  in  like  case.  Then  he 
bid  me  "  God  speed,"  and  I  went  my  way  on  foot  with  rather  an 
exalted  opinion  of  the  native  "  West-Virginian,"  a  determina- 
tion to  ride  no  more  unknown  mule-paths,  and  in  my  portfolio 
the  sketch  of  the  Hawk's  Nest,  from  which  was  drawn  the  little 
illustration  which  gives  the  title  to  this  paper. 


To  A  FLOWER. 


TO   A   FLOWER. 

IN  THE  STYLE  OF  HERRICK. 
BY   C.    FLORIO. 

J,O  to  my  love  ;  and  tell  her  from  my  heart 

How  much  I  love! 

Go  to  my  love  ;  .and  tell  her  should  we  part 
No  salve  could  heal  the  smart 
I  then  should  know. 
What  shall  I  do 
My  love  to  prove  ? 


Go  to  my  love  ;   and  tell  her  she  's  more  fair 

Than  lilies  are. 

Go  to  my  love  ;   and  tell  her  all  the  air 
Around  breathes  perfume  rare 

When  she  doth  move  ; 
And  gales  of  love 
Her  tenders  are. 

Go  to  my  love  ;   and  tell  her  here  I  lie 
And  weep  and  sigh. 


148  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Go  to  my  love ;   and  tell  her  that  I  die 
If  she  pass  coldly  by 

And  give  no  chance 
Or  pitying  glance 
From  her  bright  eye. 

Go  to  my  love  ;   and  tell  her  this,  O  flower ! 

And  watch  her  face. 

Go  to  my  love ;   and  tell  her  that  her  power 
Enthralls  me  so  this  hour 

That,  lest  I  die, 
She  must  reply 
With  loving  grace ! 


THE  PHYSICAL  REQUIREMENTS  OF  SONG. 


THE   PHYSICAL  REQUIREMENTS 
OF  SONG. 

BY    CHARLES    INSLEE    PARDEE,    M.D. 

fT  is  frequently  said  of  eminent  singers,  that  "  their  vocal 
organs  are  of  exquisite  construction." 

The  remark  is  so  often  repeated,  that  we  are  led  to 
regard  it  as  the  expression  of  a  general  belief,  that 
vocalists  are  endowed  with  unusual  physical  attributes, 
neither  inherited  nor  to  be  acquired  by  the  masses  of  man- 
kind. 

It  cannot  in  truth  be  said  that  this  impression  is  entirely 
without  foundation  ;  but  if  by  the  expression  it  is  intended  to 
convey  the  idea  that  the  basis  of  vocalism  is  a  larynx  of  pecu- 
liar anatomical  form  or  of  rare  functional  power,  it  may  mis- 
lead us. 

Setting  aside  the  singular  mental  and  emotional  bias  which 
seems  to  be  essential  to  the  musical  artist,  and  taking  into 
consideration  the  physical  requirements  of  song  only,  we  have 
two  factors  which  enter  into  its  production,  namely,  the  vocal 
organs  —  i.  e.  the  mouth,  larynx,  and  trachea  —  and  the  ear. 

The  action  of  the  vocal  organs  is  easily  explained.  The 
wasted  product  of  respiration,  the  breath,  is  forced  through  a 
chink  in  the  larynx,  and  sound  is  created,  while  form  and 
expression  are  given  by  the  mouth.  That  words  are  formed 


152  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

by  the  mouth,  without  the  aid  of  the  larynx,  is  a  fact  easily 
proven,  as  every  one  knows  that  he  can  distinctly  express 
himself  in  a  whisper. 

The  larynx  is  essentially  a  double-reed  instrument,  the 
vocal  cords  being  analogous  to  the  reed  of  a  musical  instru- 
ment. The  vocal  cords  are  thrown  into  vibration  by  the 
breath,  and  sound  is  produced,  the  pitch  being  determined  by 
the  rapidity  or  slowness  of  movement.  This,  in  turn,  is  regu- 
lated by  the  tension  of  the  cords  ;  sounds  of  the  highest  pitch 
requiring  extreme  tension,  sounds  of  the  lowest  pitch  extreme 
relaxation  of  those  organs.  The  different  positions  of  the 
cords  are  caused  entirely  by  muscular  action.  While  the  parts 
are  at  rest,  air  passes  in  and  out,  in  the  act  of  respiration, 
causing  no  sound,  as  then  their  relations  are  not  favorable  to 
its  production. 

Thus  the  larynx  is  the  organ  of  sound ;  but  the  larynx 
and  mouth  are  the  organs  of  articulate  speech. 

These  organs  are  susceptible  of  the  highest  cultivation,  and 
their  functional  perfection  can  only  be  attained  by  training. 
It  is  gymnastic  exercise  of  the  muscles,  acting  on  the  parts, 
which  is  required,  —  systematic  practice  of  their  functional 
qualities,  subject  to  the  will.  That  is  all.  Within  the  regis- 
ter of  his  natural  voice,  any  one  can  attain  mechanical  pre- 
cision of  vocal  expression.  Even  the  register  may  be  increased 
by  the  simple  expedient  of  exercise. 

What,  then,  is  so  essential  to  the  physical  requirements  of 
song,  that  the  few  who  possess  it  are  regarded  as  phenom- 
ena? It  is  an  ear  of  exquisite  function,  such  as  rarely  exists. 
The  ear  is  as  important  as  is  the  operator  to  the  transmis- 
sion of  a  telegram.  It  is  the  conductor,  —  the  critic.  Wit- 


THE    PHYSICAL    REQUIREMENTS    OF    SONG.      153 

ness  the  person  whose  deafness  is  of  such  high  degree  that 
he  cannot  hear  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  and  listen  to  his 
harsh,  unmodulated  tones.  Witness  the  deaf-mute, — mute  only 
because  he  is  deaf,  —  with  vocal  organs  that  are  probably  ana- 
tomically perfect,  but  with  no  guide  in  that  process  of  imitation, 
which  in  the  general  way  constitutes  man's  training,  from  the 
imperfect  articulation  of  the  words  "papa"  and  "mamma,"  in 
babyhood,  to  the  highest  form  of  vocal  expression. 

Of  our  special  senses,  the  ear  is  the  organ  of  tune.  Its 
function  is  to  receive  the  succession  of  sounds,  musical  notes, 
the  various  peculiarities  of  articulate  speech,  and  to  measure 
the  periods  of  silence.  It  is  the  register  of  the  properties 
of  waves  of  sound,  —  the  intensity,  quality,  and  pitch,  —  con- 
veying to  the  brain  an  impression  of  the  relative  intensity 
of  the  sound  created  by  the  firing  of  a  cannon  and  of  a 
pistol ;  of  the  quality  of  the  sound  of  a  violoncello  or  of  a 
violin^ —  the  pitch  of  the  soprano  and  bass  voices.  If  per- 
fect in  its  functional  property,  it  registers  the  whole  ;  but  if 
not,  either  through  irregular  development,  or-  because  its  nor- 
mal condition  has  been  changed  by  disease,  it  may  do  so  but 
partially,  and  the  unfortunate  possessor  of  such  an  ear,  par- 
ticularly unfortunate  if  he  desires  to  sing  correctly,  ascertains 
that  he  is  unable  accurately  to  determine  the  pitch  of  certain 
sounds,  and  that  his  most  careful  attempts  to  reproduce  them 
result  in  discords.  Moreover,  he  may  observe  that  he  cannot 
appreciate  the  quality  of  sound. 

Physiologically  considered,  the  human  ear  is  not  a  homo- 
geneous organ,  but  the  different  parts  are  for  the  appreciation 
of  the  different  properties  of  sound  ;  and  the  absence  of  one 
part,  for  instance,  that  which  registers  the  quality,  or  the 


154  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

pitch,  would  cause  the  disappearance  of  its  peculiar  function. 
In  view  of  this  fact,  it  would  be  interesting  to  collate  the 
several  opinions  of  notably  just  and  impartial  critics  in  re- 
gard to  various  vocalists,  to  know  if  the  tenor  of  criticism  is 
in  a  singular  groove ;  if  it  has  the  appearance  of  being  of 
a  certain  formula  or  of  particular  bias.  The  singer  who  is 
smarting  under  the  infliction  of  partial  and  unjust  criticism 
of  a  performance,  that  he  has  perfected  through  years  of 
careful  training,  under  the  guidance  of  an  exquisite  ear,  may 
find  courage  in  the  reflection  that,  in  all  probability,  his  critic, 
honest  though  he  be,  has  imperfect  aural  perceptions,  and  is 
laboring  under  the  disadvantage  of  performing  work  requiring 
the  indispensable  direction  of  an  ear  of  faultless  physiological 
attributes,  —  an  ear  that  he  does  not  possess;  that  the  author 
of  the  criticism  is  not  prompted  by  any  improper  motive,  nor 
is  he  captious,  but  is  functionally  incapable  of  receiving  cor- 
rect impressions. 

A  human  ear  of  perfect  functional  attributes  is  something 
rare.  That  competent  authority,  Von  Troltsch,  says :  "  I  shall 
make  too  small  rather  than  too  large  an  estimate,  when  I 
assert  that  not  more  than  one  out  of  three  persons,  of  from 
twenty  to  forty  years  of  age,  still  possess  good  and  normal 
hearing."  Good  and  normal  hearing,  in  the  sense  of  this 
paragraph,  means  good  enough  for  ordinary  purposes.  It 
does  not  refer  to  that  exquisite  sensibility  to  all  the  proper- 
ties of  sound  which  is  indispensable  to  the  accomplished 
singer.  The  author,  however,  touches  the  point.  If  his  esti- 
mate is  approximately  correct,  few  of  our  race  may  aspire  to 
the  distinction  of  attaining  pre-eminence  in  song. 

My  friend,  have  you  a  wish  to  become  proficient  in   song  ? 


THE    PHYSICAL    REQUIREMENTS    OF    SONG.      155 

Do  not  concern  yourself  too  much  about  your  voice.  In  the 
practice  of  your  life,  you  have  imitated  articulate  speech  with 
entire  success,  and  now  reproduce  it  in  a  creditable  manner. 
Your  vocal  organs  show  their  susceptibility  to  training  and 
discipline,  and  doubtless,  within  the  register  of  your  voice, 
may  be  trained  to  song,  provided  you  have  the  all-important 
guide.  Have  you  that  guide  ?  Can  you  recognize  the  dis- 
tinctive properties  of  sound  ?  Do  you  appreciate  the  intensity, 
the  quality,  the  pitch?  Have  you  in  perfection  the  three 
thousand  nerve  fibres  of  the  cochlear  portion  of  the  ear,  each 
one  of  which  vibrates  synchronous  to  the  sound  of  its  own 
appropriate  pitch  ? 

If  so,  you  can  succeed ;    otherwise,  it  would  be  as  reason- 
able to  expect  of  a  blind  man  the  reproduction  of  color. 


THE  TRUTHFUL  RESOLVER 


THE   TRUTHFUL   RESOLVER. 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  LEVIATHAN  CLUB. 

BY    D.   R.    LOCKE. 

(PETROLEUM  v.  NASBY.) 

R.  JOHN  UPANDOWNJOHN  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  a  strictly  honest  man,  in  which 
particular  he  stood  lamentably  alone.  He  was 
constructed  peculiarly,  —  he  was  born  into  an 
atmosphere  of  integrity,  and  his  training  had 
added  to  his  natural  bent  to  a  degree  that 
made  him  as  incapable  of  an  untruth,  or  the  semblance 
thereof,  as  the  great  George  Washington  himself.  Having 
this  tendency,  it  was  well  for  him  that  he  was  born  with  a 
fortune,  for  his  rigid  adherence  to  his  principles  unfitted 
him  for  almost  every  occupation.  He  did  try  journalism, 
but  was  dismissed  ignominiously  for  saying  of  a  candidate 
of  the  party  with  which  the  paper  acted,  that  he  was  a  thief 
and  a  trickster.  Then  he  essayed  law,  but  he  saw  enough 
of  law  before  he  had  been  in  an  office  two  weeks,  while 
medicine  lasted  him  scarcely  a  week.  So  he  determined  to 
do  nothing,  but  live  on  his  income  and  be  an  honest  man. 

He  adopted  certain  rules  by  which  he  lived,  and  he  could 
no  more  depart  from  them  than  he  could  rise  from  the  earth 
and  take  a  place  among  the  stars.  He  ate  exactly  so  much, 


160  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

at  certain  fixed  hours  and  of  certain  kinds  of  food.  He 
drank  so  many  times  a  day  of  certain  liquors  which  he 
fancied  were  good  for  him,  measuring  the  quantity  with  the 
accuracy  and  precision  of  an  apothecary ;  and  so  far  did  he 
carry  rule  into  his  life,  that  he  put  on  and  off  his  clothing 
on  certain  days  in  certain  months,  without  reference  to 
weather.  I  saw  him  shivering  one  bright  but  very  cold 
morning  in  June,  and  demanded  the  reason. 

"I  laid  off  my  woollens  this  morning,"  said  he. 

"  Why  lay  off  your  woollens  in  winter  weather  ? "  I  asked. 

"The  ist  of  June  is  my  day  therefor,"  said  he.  "The 
weather  ought  to  be  warm  to-day.  I  cannot  break  my  rule." 

He  never  neglected  to  pay  a  debt,  and  never  told  a  lie, 
not  even  a  white  one.  He  was  cut  out  of  an  aunt's  will,  by 
responding  to  her  anxious  inquiry  as  to  how  she  looked  in  a 
certain  dress  which  she  had  set  her  heart  on,  with  the  sim- 
ple word,  "  Hideous."  And  the  same  devotion  to  truth  barred 
him  no  matter  what  path  he  took. 

He  was  frightfully  unpopular,  though,  notwithstanding,  he 
held  a  good  position  among  his  fellows.  His  childlike  sim- 
plicity and  sterling  integrity  made  him  valuable,  and  beside 
every  one  knew  that  his  devotion  to  truth  was  honest,  and 
had  nothing  of  bumptiousness  or  malice  in  it. 

Mr.  Upandownjohn  was  a  member  of  the  Leviathan  Club. 
I  write  the  word  was  sadly,  for  he  is  a  Leviathan  no  more. 
The  cause  and  manner  of  his  leaving  that  delightful  asso- 
ciation of  good  men  is  the  animus  of  this  paper. 

The  members  of  the  Leviathan  were  pleased  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  Mr.  Upandownjohn,  and  made  much  of  him. 
Had  they  known  him  better  they  probably  would  have  loved 


THE    TRUTHFUL    RESOLVER.  l6l 

him  less,  for  his  peculiar  virtue  was  never  popular  in  that 
Club. 

He  excited  attention,  first,  by  his  habit  of  correcting  loose- 
talking  members  when  their  statements  were  too  highly  fla- 
vored with  romance  ;  as,  for  instance,  when  one  gentleman 
asserted  that,  his  father  owned  Flora  Temple  when  she  was 
a  colt,  using  her  as  a  common  hack,  and  selling  her  finally 
for  fifty  dollars,  Mr.  Upandovvnjohn  quietly  put  him  down. 

"  I  knew  your  father,"  he  said,  "  and  a  worthy,  truthful  man 
he  was.  He  died  just  three  years  before  Flora  Temple  was 
foaled.  The  mare  he  used  as  a  hack  and  sold  for  fifty  dol- 
lars must  have  been  some  other  famous  animal.  Flora  Tem- 
ple will  some  day  be  the  death  of  me.  Every  racing  season 
some  man  narrates  the  circumstance  of  his  father  having 
once  owned  Flora  Temple  and  worked  her  as  a  hack,  and, 
what  is  more  exasperating,  he  "always  sold  her  for  just  fifty 
dollars.  Would  that  I  could  find  one  man  whose  father  sold 
her  for  sixty  dollars  or  sixty-two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  !  You, 
my  dear  sir,  are  the  sixty-eighth  man  this  season  whose  father 
once  owned  Flora  Temple.  She  was  the  most  extensively 
owned  mare  I  ever  knew  anything  about." 

On  another  occasion  a  gentleman  detailed  with  great  mi- 
nuteness, how  in  doing  the  regular  thing  at  Niagara  by  going 
under  the  sheet,  the  wind  parted  the  torrent  and  he  stepped 
out  upon  the  shelf  outside,  when,  to  his  horror,  the  opening 
closed,  leaving  him  outside  the  falling  sheet  on  a  narrow  ledge 
of  rock.  With  great  presence  of  mind  he  darted  through  the 
falling  sheet  and  rejoined  the  frightened  party  who  supposed 
him  lost  forever. 

Mr.   Upandownjohn  took  pencil  and  paper,  and  worked    all 


162  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

night  and  the  next  day,  without  sleeping  or  eating.  The 
next  night  he  exhibited  to  the  hero  of  this  marvellous  adven- 
ture the  weight  of  the  water  in  that  sheet,  and  demonstrated 
to  him  the  fact  that,  had  he  got  under  it,  he  would  have  been 
mashed,  though  he  had  been  constructed  of  cast-steel. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  was  Niagara  ? "  he  asked  anxiously. 
"  Was  n't  it  some  other  fall  ? " 

One  day  a  member  died,  and  the  Club  did  the  usual  thing 
by  him.  A  committee  of  three  was  appointed  to  draft  reso- 
lutions expressing  the  bereavement  of  the  members,  and,  as 
ill-luck  would  have  it,  Upandownjohn  was  put  upon  the  com- 
mittee. 

They  met,  and,  as  is  always  the  case,  two  of  the  members 
really  had  not  time  to  attend  to  it.  One  had  an  engagement 
at  the  theater;  the  other  was  to  take  his  sister  —  or  some 
one  else's  —  to  the  opera. 

"  Upandownjohn,"  said  the  first,  "  you  have  nothing  to  do, 
and  are  handy  with  the  pen.  There  is  no  earthly  necessity 
for  keeping  us  here.  You  just  write  out  the  usual  resolu- 
tions, and  send  'em  down  to  The  Screamer,  The  Spouter,  and 
The  Soarer  in  time  for  to-morrow  morning." 

"How  shall  I  treat  the  deceased?"  asked  the  obliging 
Upandownjohn. 

"  O,  in  the  usual  way  !  Speak  of  his  qualities  as  a  man,  the 
feelings  of  the  Club  at  his  untimely  taking-off,  the  sources  of 
consolation  that  we  have,  his  qualities  as  an  actor ;  hurl  in  some- 
thing to  alleviate  the  pangs  of  his  family  ;  speak  of  his  general 
standing ;  and  put  in  a  strong  dose  of  general  comfort,  you 
understand,  to  those  who  mourn,  and  so  on.  It  '11  be  all  right. 
You  '11  attend  to  it  now,  won't  you  ? " 


THE    TRUTHFUL    RESOLVER.  163 

"  It  is  a  disagreeable  duty,"  replied  Upandownjohn ;  "  but 
I  will  do  it." 

And*  they  left  him  to  his  work. 

Now  Mr.  Upandownjohn  had  had  no  experience  in  work  of 
this  kind,  and  consequently  he  was  n't  exactly  clear  as  to  the 
form.  So  he  sent  for  the  scrap-book  in  which  such  utterances 
of  the  Club  had  been  posted  from  its  beginning.  He  was 
shocked.  There  were  a  great  many  sets  of  resolutions  on  de- 
ceased members  (the  liquors  were  bad  at  the  Leviathan),  and 
they  were  all  precisely  alike !  They  ran  as  follows :  — 

Whereas,  It  has  pleased  Almighty  God,  the  ruler  of  the  Universe, 
to  remove  from  our  midst  our  esteemed  brother  and  friend,  John 
James  So-and-so  ;  and 

Whereas,  It  is  fit  that  we,  his  afflicted  survivors  of  the  Leviathan 
Club,  should  publicly  express  their  sore  grief  at  this  great  bereave- 
ment •  therefore  be  it 

Resolved,  That  in  the  death  of  John  James  So-and-so,  this  Club  has 
lost  a  worthy  member,  society  an  ornament,  his  family  an  affectionate 
father  and  husband,  the  State  a  pillar  and  defender,  and  the  world  at 
large  one  it  could  illy  spare. 

Resolved,  That  while  we  mourn  with  sorrow  that  seems  to  have  no 
alleviation  under  the  great  affliction  that  has  fallen  upon  us,  we  can- 
not but  bow  in  humility  to  this  inscrutable  decree. 

Resolved,  That  we  tender  our  heartfelt  sympathy  to  the  family  and 
relatives  of  the  deceased. 

Resolved,  That  the  Club-house  be  draped  in  mourning  for  thirty 
days  in  memory  of  the  deceased. 

As  he  finished,  Mr.  Upandownjohn  brought  his  fist  down 
upon  the  table  till  the  glasses  jingled. 

"  What  stuff  this  is  ! "  he  said,  indignantly.     "  I  knew  So-and- 


164  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

so.  He  was  a  dishonest  and  untruthful  man,  — a  tyrant  in  his 
family,  a  trader  in  politics,  a  disagreeable  man  in  society,  and 
a  curse  to  humanity  generally.  And  they  mourn  him,  do  they  ? 
And  I  suppose  they  want  me  to  mourn  Ranter,  who  is  to  be 
embalmed  to-night.  Ha!  ha!  I  will  astonish  these  people.  I 
will  write  one  set  of  honest  resolutions.  I  knew  Ranter,  who* 
has  just  gone  hence,  and  justice  shall  be  done  him  sure.  I  will 
be  as  mild  as  I  can  be,  and  do  him  justice,  but  I  will  be  honest 
with  his  memory." 

So  Mr.  Upandownjohn  called  for  fresh  pens  and  ink  and 
paper,  and  wrote  ;  and  having  made  fair  copies  of  what  he  wrote, 
took  them  himself  to  the  offices  of  The  Screamer,  The  Spout  er, 
and  The  Soarer,  and  went  home  and  slept  as  only  he  can  sleep 
who  rejoices  over  a  duty  done  and  well  done. 

The  next  morning  the  members  of  the  Leviathan  were  aston- 
ished at  reading  in  the  journals  the  following:  — 

Whereas,  By  a  long  course  of  the  most  outrageous  dissipation,  of 
late  nights,  of  late  suppers  of  the  grossest  food,  of  perpetual  bever- 
ages of  the  most  villanous  kind,  —  those  that  give  the  stomach  no 
show  whatever,  —  by  unchecked  and  unregulated  indulgence  in  the 
worst  possible  sensuality ;  in  brief,  by  a  long-continued  series  of  the 
vilest  outrages  upon  the  physical,  mental,  and  moral  man,  our  late 
member,  Arthur  Simpson  Ranter,  has  been  taken  to  that  bourne  from 
which  we  earnestly  hope  he  may  never  return  ;  and 

Whereas,  When  a  member  of  the  Leviathan  Club  expires,  it  is  cus- 
tomary to  commemorate  him,  to  give  him  a  send-off,,  as  it  were,  there- 
fore be  it 

Resolved,  That  when  we  remember  the  villanous  habit  he  had  of 
revoking  at  whist,  and  also  his  adroit  way  of  sliding  out  of  paying  the 
score,  whenever  he  lost  the  rubber,  our  grief  at  his  departure  is 
severely  mitigated,  if  not  entirely  subdued. 


THE    TRUTHFUL    RESOLVER.  165 

Resolved,  That  the  promptness  of  our  late  associate  in  accepting 
invitations  to  slake  his  thirst,  and  his  intolerable  tardiness  in  recipro- 
cating, did  more  honor  to  his  head  than  to  his  heart. 

Resolved,  That  his  habitual  untruthfulness,  his  utter  disregard  of 
his  word,  and  his  blustering  and  overbearing  manner,  were  the  best 
points  in  him,  as  they  served  as  a  warning  to  the  younger  members  of 
the  Club.  For  this  his  demise  is  to  be  lamented. 

Resolved,,  That  his  habit  of  getting  boozy  before  eleven  A.M.,  and 
staying  in  that  condition  so  long  as  there  was  a  good-natured  man 
in  the  Club,  gives  us  his  survivors  good  reason  to  -pause  and  ask  no 
more  that  conundrum,  "  Why  was  death  introduced  into  the  world  ? " 

Resolved,  That  when  we  remember  the  success  with  which  our  late 
brother  borrowed  money,  and  his  utter  forgetfulness  of  such  transac- 
tions, our  hearts  are  softened  toward  Adam  and  Eve  (through  whose 
sin  death  was  made  a  part  of  the  economy  of  nature),  and  we  pub- 
licly thank  that  lady  and  gentleman  for  their  investigating  turn  of 
mind,  and  hurl  back  indignantly  the  charge  that  they  did  not  do  the 
best  thing  possible  for  posterity. 

Resolved,  That  in  the  death  of  our  late  brother,  who  was  as  vile  as 
an  actor  as  he  was  bad  as  a  man,  the  long-suffering  theater-going  pub- 
lic have  a  boon  the  sweetness  of  which  cannot  be  overstated,  and 
upon  which  we  extend  them  hearty  congratulations. 

Resolved,  That  we  congratulate  Mrs.  Ranter  upon  the  fact  that  her 
private  fortune  was  settled  upon  herself,  and  so  skilfully  tied  up  that 
her  late  husband,  our  deceased  brother,  could  not  get  at  a  cent  of  it. 
And  we  do  this,  remembering  how  often  we  have  mourned  that  it  was 
so,  for  the  reason  that,  could  he  have  touched  it,  he  would  have  drank 
himself  into  an  untimely  tomb  several  years  sooner  than  he  did. 
Death  with  us  buries  all  animosity  and  does  away  with  all  acrimony.* 

Resolved,  That  the  Club-house  be  illuminated  the  night  of  the 
funeral,  and  be  draped  in  white  for  thirty  days  in  honor  of  this  happy 
event. 


166  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Resolved,  That  this  truthful  tribute  to  the  memory  of  our  deceased 
brother  be  published  in  The  Screamer,  The  Spouter,  and  The  Soarer. 


To  say  there  was  an  uproar  in  the  Club  the  next  morn- 
ing, as  these  resolutions  were  read,  would  be  to  convey  a 
very  faint  idea  of  the  case.  In  the  midst  of  it,  when  it  was 
at  its  height,  entered  Upandownjohn,  cleanly  shaved,  and  as 
serene  as  a  June  morning. 

"  Did  you  write  and  publish  this  miserable  mess,  —  this 
ghastly  concoction  of  infernalism  ? "  demanded  a  score  of  in- 
dignant men. 

"  Did  I  write  those  resolutions,  you  mean.  I  did.  I  was 
appointed  a  committee  to  embalm  the  memory  of  the  late 
Ranter  in  the  daily  papers.  I  did  it.  Do  you  find  anything 
objectionable  in  them  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  assert  that  he  was  a  sponge ! "  exclaimed  one. 

"  Unhappily  it  is  the  truth.  I  have  myself  paid  for  gallons 
of  liquor  for  him." 

"  You  say  he  was  a  bad  actor  ? " 

"  The  worst  I  ever  suffered  under." 

"  What  will  his  wife  think  of  what  you  have  said  of  him  ? " 

"  She  will  recognize  the  portrait,  and  with  us  thank  Heaven 
for  her  release." 

"  You  give  it  as  the  sense  of  the  Club  that  he  was  — " 

"  Everything  that  was  bad,  mean,  and  disreputable.  •  Very 
good.  It  is  true,  every  word  of  it.  He  owes  me  this  day 
thirty-seven  dollars  sixty-three  cents  and  a  third,  which  he 
has  owed  (it  was  borrowed)  since  July  9,  1871,  at  twenty- 
seven  minutes  past  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening.  And  every 
man  of  you  is  also  his  creditor.  If  there  is  a  mean  thing 
that  he  has  not  done,  it  has  escaped  my  notice." 


U  ,\L  ! 


THE    TRUTHFUL    RESOLVER.  167 

By  this  time  Mr.  Upandownjohn  saw  that  his  fellow-mem- 
bers were  angry,  and  for  once  he  lost  his  balance  and  became 
angry  too. 

Brandishing  his  umbrella  (it  was  not  raining,  but  as  it  was 
the  time  of  month  when  it  should  have  rained  he  carried  it), 
he  exclaimed :  — 

"  Gentlemen,  you  have  had  one  set  of  resolutions  written 
which  contained  nothing  but  the  truth ;  not  the  whole  truth, 
for  my  time  was  limited,  and  it  was  impossible  to  get  in  all 
that  I  could  have  said,  and  besides,  I  desired  to  be  as  leni- 
ent and  mild  as  possible.  Having  written  nothing  but  truth, 
you  are  offended.  It  is  well.  I  will  have  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  a  club  where  the  truth  cannot  be  told.  Truth, 
if  not  the  immediate  jewel  of  the  soul,  is  very  close  to  it. 
Gentlemen,  adieu.  You  have  seen  the  last  of  John  Upandown- 
john. Should  I  stay,  I  might  be  called  upon  to  resolve  over 
some  of  your  inanimate  remains,  and  as  I  cannot  tell  a  lie, 
it  would  be  unpleasant." 

And  that  afternoon  the  directory  received  his  resignation, 
and  he  was  seen  there  no  more. 


There  is  no  particular  moral  to  this.  There  are  very  few 
men  in  the  world  of  whom  it  would  be  pleasant,  as  the  world 
now  goes,  to  tell  the  exact  truth.  Therefore  may  all  who 
read  these  lines  live,  as  does  he  who  writes  them,  so  that 
when  Azrael  waves  his  dark  pinions  over  them,  they  may  lie 
down  and  die,  feeling  certain  that  the  committee  on  reso- 
lutions, though  they  be  as  truthful  as  Upandownjohn,  will  say 
nothing  that  will  call  a  spirit-blush  to  their  cheeks  in  the 
hereafter. 


TRANSLATIONS 


TRANSLATIONS. 

BY   C.    FLORID. 

r 

"  DIE  LORELE  K"  —  (HEINE.) 

KNOW  not  what  it  presageth 
\         That  I  am  so  heavy  of  heart ; 
A  tale  of  old  times  comes  o'er  me, 
And  will  not  be  forced  to  depart 


The  air  is  cool,  and  the  twilight 
Shadows  the  calm-flowing  Rhine  ; 
While  red,  in  the  fading  sunlight, 
The  tops  of  the  mountains  shine. 

A  maiden,  wondrous  and  lovely, 

Sitteth  in  beauty  there ; 
Her  jewels  glitter  and  sparkle  ; 

She  combs  her  golden  hair. 

With  golden  comb  she  combs  it, 

And  sings  —  'neath  the  dark'ning  sky 

A  song,  with  a  magic,  resistless, 
All-powerful  melody. 


172  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

A  boatman  who  glides  beneath  her 
Is  seized  with  wild  affright  ; 

He  sees  not  the  rocky  ledges, 
He  sees  but  her  on  the  height. 

The  waves  surround,  ingulf  him, 
He  sinks  with  the  setting  sun  ! 

And  this,  with  her  wondrous  singing, 
This  hath  the  Loreley  done. 


"KEN1VST  DU  DAS  LAND."  —  (GOETHE.) 

I. 

NOWEST  thou  the  Land  where  the  pale  lem- 
ons grow, 

Where  golden  oranges  mid  dark  leaves  glow, 
Where,  ceaseless  breathing  from  blue  heaven, 

a  breeze 
Kisses  the  myrtle,  and  tall  laurel-trees  ? 

Knowest  thou  it  well? 
Ah !   there  would  I  fly  with  thee,  O  my  Beloved ! 

2. 

Knowest  thou  the  House  ?     Its  roof  high  pillars  raise  ; 
Its  spacious  halls  -with  matchless  splendors  blaze  ; 
Pale  statues  stand  and  eye  thee  sleeplessly. 
Ah,  thou  poor  child !  what  have  they  done  to  thee  ? 

Knowest  thou  it  well  ? 
Ah!   there  would  I  fly  with  thee,  O  my  Protector! 


TRANSLATIONS.  1/3 

3- 

Knowest  thou  the  Mountain,  up  whose  cloudy  way 
The  mule  seeks  footing,  led  by  fogs  astray  ? 
In  craggy  caverns  dwells  the  Dragon's  brood  ; 
Rocks  crashing  fall,  and  o'er  them  roars  the  flood. 

Knowest  thou  it  well  ? 
Ah !   thither  leads  our  way.     O  Father,  let  us  go  ! 


BACCHANAL. 

ET  graybeards  preach  of -temperate  bliss, 

And  the  pains  endured  by  a  toper ; 
We'll    drink,    boys,    drink!    and    the    red 

wine's  kiss 
Shall  kill  grief,  —  the  interloper. 


Drink  to  the  eyes  of  her  you  love ! 

Drink  to  her  lips  of  coral ! 
Drink  to  her  kisses,  —  her  stolen  glove ! 

Drink!     Let  the  old  be  moral! 

Time  to  repent  when  passion  's  cold, 
And  the  bloom  of  life  's  bereft  us ; 

When  the  hair  is  white^  and  the  heart  is  old, 
And  no  enjoyment  's  left  us. 

Time  to  repent  in  years  to  come ! 

Our  young  day  knows  no  morrow:  — 


1/4  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Drink !     Bid  those  preaching  fools  be  dumb,  - 
What  do  we  know  of  sorrow  ? 

Give  us  another  goblet  here  ! 

Hurrah,  for  jolly  Bacchus ! 
Drink  on !    't  is  now  no  time  to  fear 

The  pains  that  yet  may  rack  us. 

Drink !   let  us  spend  a  jovial  night ; 

'T  is  time,  when  pains  oppress  us, 
To  dream  of  nights  that  have  been  bright, 

And  murmur  a  meek,  "  God  bless  us  ! " 

Time  enough  then  ;   but,  till  it 's  here, 
Let's  drink  the  night  into  morning; 

Drown  —  in  your  brimming  cups  —  old  Care, 
And  with  him  the  dotard's  warning ! 


A  FATAL  FORTUNE. 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE. 

BY   WILKIE    COLLINS. 

'NE  fine  morning,  more  than  three  months  since, 
you  were  riding  with  your  brother,  Miss  Anstell, 
in  Hyde  Park.  It  was  a  hot  day ;  and  you  had 
allowed  your  horses  to  fall  into  a  walking  pace. 
As  you  passed  the  railing  on  the  right-hand  side, 
near  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  lake  in  the 
Park,  neither  you  nor  your  brother  noticed  a  solitary  woman 
loitering  on  the  footpath  to  look  at  the  riders  as  they  went  by. 

The  solitary  woman  was  my  old  nurse,  Nancy  Connell. 
And  these  were  the  words  she  heard  exchanged  between  you 
and  your  brother,  as  you  slowly  passed  her:  — 

Your  brother  said,  "Is  it  really  true  that  Mary  Brading 
and  her  husband  have  gone  to  America  ? " 

You  laughed  (as  if  the  question  amused  you)  and  answered, 
"  Quite  true  !'" 

"  How  long  will  they  be  away  ? "  your  brother  asked  next. 
"As  long  as  they  live,"  you  replied,  with  another  laugh. 
By  this  time  you  had  passed  beyond  Nancy  Connell's  hear- 
ing.    She  owns    to  having   followed  your  horses  a  few   steps, 
to  hear  what  was  said  next.     She  looked  particularly  at  your 
brother.     He  took  your  reply  seriously :  he  seemed  to  be  quite 
astonished  by  it. 


1/8  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

"Leave  England,  and  settle  in  America!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Why  should  they  do  that  ? " 

"  Who  can  tell  why  ? "  you  answered.  "  Mary  Brading's 
husband  is  mad,  —  and  Mary  Brading  herself  is  not  much 
better." 

You  touched  your  horse  with  the  whip,  and,  in  a  moment 
more,  you  and  your  brother  were  out  of  my  old  nurse's  hearing. 
She  wrote  and  told  me,  what  I  here  tell  you,  by  a  recent 
mail.  I  have  been  thinking  of  those  last  words  of  yours  in 
my  leisure  hours,  more  seriously  than  you  would  suppose. 
The  end  of  it  is  that  I  take  up  my  pen,  on  behalf  of  my  hus- 
band and  myself,  to  tell  you  the  story  of  our  marriage,  and  the 
reason  for  our  emigration  to  the  United  States  of  America. 

It  matters  little  or  nothing,  to  him  or  to  me,  whether  our 
friends  in  England  think  us  both  mad  or  not.  Their  opin- 
ions, hostile  or  favorable,  are  of  no  sort  of  importance  to  us. 
But  you  are  an  exception  to  the  rule.  In  bygone  days  at 
school  we  were  fast  and  firm  friends  ;  and  —  what  weighs 
with  me  even  more  than  this  —  you  were  heartily  loved  and 
admired  by  my  dear  mother.  She  spoke  of  you  tenderly  on 
her  death-bed.  Events  have  separated  us  of  late  years.  But 
I  cannot  forget  the  old  times  ;  and  I  cannot  feel  indifferent 
to  your  opinion  of  me  and  of  my  husband,  —  though  an  ocean 
does  separate  us,  and  though  we  are  never  likely  to  look  on 
one  another  again.  It  is  very  foolish  of  me,  I  dare  say,  to 
take  seriously  to  heart  'what  you  said  in  one  of  your  thought- 
less moments.  I  can  only  plead  in  excuse,  that  I  have  gone 
through  a  great  deal  of  suffering,  and  that  I  was  always  (as 
you  may  remember)  a  person  of  sensitive  temperament,  easily 
excited  and  easily  depressed. 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  1/9 

Enough  of  this !  Do  me  the  last  favor  I  shall  ever  ask  of 
you.  Read  what  follows,  and  judge  for  yourself  whether  my 
husband  and  I  are  quite  as  mad  as  you  were  disposed  to 
think  us,  when  Nancy  Connell  heard  you  talking  to  your 
brother  in  Hyde  Park. 

II. 

IT  is  now  more  than  a  year  since  I  went  to  Eastbourne,  on 
the  coast  of  Sussex,  with  my  father  and  my  brother  James. 

My  brother  had  then,  as  we  hoped,  recovered  from  the  ef- 
fects of  a  fall  in  the  hunting-field.  He  complained,  however, 
at  times  of  pain  in  his  head  ;  and  the  doctors  advised  us  to 
try  the  sea  air.  We  removed  to  Eastbourne,  without  a  sus- 
picion of  the  serious  nature  of  the  injury  that  he  had  re- 
ceived. For  a  few  days,  all  went  well.  We  liked  the  place  ; 
the  air  agreed  with  us  ;  and  we-  determined  to  prolong  our 
residence  for  some  weeks  to  come. 

On  our  sixth  day  at  the  seaside, — a  memorable  day  to 
rne,  for  reasons  which  you  have  still  to  learn,  —  my  brother 
complained  again  of  the  old  pain  in  his  head.  He  and  I 
went  out  together  to  try  what  exercise  would  do  towards 
relieving  him.  We  walked  through  the  town  to  the  fort  at 
one  end  of  it,  and  then  followed  a  footpath  running  by  the 
side  of  the  sea,  over  a  dreary  waste  of  shingle,  bounded  at 
its  inland  extremity  by  the  road  to  Hastings  and  by  the 
marshy  country  beyond. 

W'e  had  left  the  fort  at  some  little  distance  behind  us.  I 
was  walking  in  front ;  and  James  was  following  me.  He  was 
talking  as  quietly  as  usual,  when  he  suddenly  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence.  I  turned  round  in  surprise,  and  dis- 


180  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

covered  my  brother  prostrate  on  the  path,  in  convulsions 
terrible  to  see. 

It  was  the  first  epileptic  fit  I  had  ever  witnessed.  My 
presence  of  mind  entirely  deserted  me.  I  could  only  wring 
my  hands  in  horror,  and  scream  for  help.  No  one  appeared, 
either  from  the  direction  of  the  fort  or  of  the  high  road. 
I  was  too  far  off,  I  suppose,  to  make  myself  heard.  Look- 
ing ahead  of  me,  along  the  path,  I  discerned,  to  my  infinite 
relief,  the  figure  of  a  man  running  towards  me.  As  he  came 
nearer,  I  saw  that  he  was  unmistakably  a  gentleman,  —  young, 
and  eager  to  be  of  service  to  me. 

"Pray  compose  yourself!"  he  said,  after  a  look  at  my 
brother.  "  It  is  very  dreadful  to  see  ;  but  it  is  not  danger- 
ous. We  must  wait  until  the  convulsions  are  over,  and 
then  I  can  help  you." 

He  seemed  to  know  so  much  about  it,  that  I  thought  he 
might  JDC  a  medical  man.  I  put  the  question  to  him  plainly. 

He  colored,  and  looked  a  little  confused. 

"  I  am  not  a  doctor,"  he  said.  "  I  happen  to  have  seen 
persons  afflicted  with  epilepsy ;  and  I  have  heard  medical 
men  say  that  it  is  useless  to  interfere  until  the  fit  has  worn 
itself  out.  See  ! "  he  added,  "  your  brother  is  quieter  already. 
He  will  soon  feel  a  sense  of  relief  which  will  more  than  com- 
pensate him  for  what  he  has  suffered.  I  will  help  him  to 
get  to  the  fort ;  and,  once  there,  we  can  send  for  a  carriage 
to  take  him  home." 

In  five  minutes  more,  we  were  on  our  way  to  the  fort ;  the 
stranger  supporting  my  brother  as  attentively  and  tenderly  as 
if  he  had  been  an  old  friend.  When  the  carriage  arrived,  he 
insisted  on  accompanying  us  to  our  own  door,  on  the  chance 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  181 

that  his  services  might  still  be  of  some  use.  He  left  us, 
asking  permission  to  call  and  inquire  after  James's  health  the 
next  day.  A  more  gentle  and  unassuming  person  I  never 
met  with.  He  not  only  excited  my  warmest  gratitude ;  he 
really  interested  me  at  my  first  meeting  with  him. 

I  lay  some  stress  on  the  impression  which  this  young  man 
produced  upon  me,  —  why,  you  will  soon  find  out. 

The  next  day  the  stranger  paid  his  promised  visit  of  inquiry. 
His  card,  which  he  sent  up  stairs,  informed  us  that  his  name 
was  Roland  Cameron.  My  father  —  who  is  not  easily  pleased 
—  took  a  liking  to  him  at  once.  His  visit  was  prolonged,  at 
our  request.  In  the  course  of  conversation,  he  said  just  enough 
about  himself  to  satisfy  us  that  we  were  receiving  a  person 
who  was  at  least  of  equal  rank  with  ourselves.  Born  in  Eng- 
land, of  a  Scotch  family,  he  had  lost  both  his  parents.  Not 
long  since,  he  had  inherited  a  fortune  from  one  of  his  uncles. 
It  struck  us  as  a  little  strange  that  he  spoke  of  this  fortune 
with  a  marked  change  to  melancholy  in  his  voice  and  his 
manner.  The  subject  was,  for  some  inconceivable  reason, 
evidently  distasteful  to  him.  Rich  as  he  was,  he  acknowledged 
that  he  led  a  simple  and  solitary  life.  He  had  little  taste 
for  society,  and  no  sympathies  in  common  with  the  average 
young  men  of  his  own  age.  But  he  had  his  own  harmless 
pleasures  and  occupations  ;  and  past  sorrow  and  suffering 
had  taught  him  not  to  expect  too  much  from  life.  All  this 
was  said  modestly,  with  a  winning  charm  of  look  and  voice 
which  indescribably  attracted  me.  His  personal  appearance 
aided  the  favorable  impression  which  his  manner  and  his  con- 
versation produced.  He  was  of  the  middle  height,  lightly  and 
firmly  built ;  his  complexion  pale ;  his  hands  and  feet  small 


182  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

and  finely  shaped  ;  his  brown  hair  curling  naturally;  his  eyes 
large  and  dark,  with  an  occasional  indecision  in  their  expres- 
sion which  was  far  from  being  an  objection  to  them,  to  my 
taste.  It  seemed  to  harmonize  with  an  occasional  indecision 
in  his  talk ;  proceeding,  as  I  was  inclined  to  think,  from  some 
passing  confusion  in  his  thoughts  which  it  always  cost  him  a 
little  effort  to  discipline  and  overcome.  Does  it  surprise  you 
to  find  how  closely  I  observed  a  man  who  was  only  a  chance 
acquaintance,  at  my  first  interview  with  him  ?  Or  do  your 
suspicions  enlighten  you,  and  do  you  say  to  yourself,  She  has 
fallen  in  love  with .  Mr.  Roland  Cameron  at  first  sight?  I 
may  plead  in  my  own  defence,  that  I  was  not  quite  romantic 
enough  to  go  that  length.  But  I  own  I  waited  for  his  next 
visit,  with  an  impatience  which  was  new  to  me  in  my  experi- 
ence of  my  sober  self.  And  worse  still,  when  the  day  came, 
I*,  changed  my  dress  three  times,  before  my  newly  developed 
vanity. was  satisfied  with  the  picture  which  the  looking-glass 
presented  to  me  of  myself ! 

/  In  a  fortnight  more,  my  father  and  my  brother  began  to 
look  on  the  daily  companionship  of  our  new  friend  as  one  of 
the  settled  'institutions  of  their  lives.  In  a  fortnight  more, 
Mr.  Roland  Cameron  and  I  —  though  we  neither  of  us  ven- 
tured to  acknowledge  it' — were .  as  devotedly  in  love  with 
each  other  as  two  young  people  could  well  be.  Ah,  what  a 
delightful  time  it  was !  and  how  cruelly  soon  our  happiness 
came  to  an  end  ! 

During  the  brief  interval  which  I  have  just  described,  I 
observed  certain  peculiarities  in  Roland  Cameron's  conduct 
which  perplexed  and  troubled  me,  when  my  mind  was  busy 
with  him  in  my  lonely  moments. 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  183 

For  instance,  he  was  subject  to  the  strangest  lapses  into 
silence  when  he  and  I  were  talking  together.  They  seized 
him  suddenly,  in  the  most  capricious  manner ;  sometimes 
when  he  was  speaking,  sometimes  when  /  was  speaking.  At 
these  times,  his  eyes  assumed  a  weary,  absent  look,  and  his 
mind  seemed  to  wander  away,  —  far  from  the  conversation 
and  far  from  me.  He  was  perfectly  unaware  of  his  own 
infirmity :  he  fell  into  it  unconsciously,  and  came  out  of  it 
unconsciously.  If  I  noticed  that  he  had  not  been  attending 
to  me,  or  if  I  asked  why  he  had  been  silent,  he  was  com- 
pletely at  a  loss  to  comprehend  what  I  meant.  What  he  was 
thinking  of  in  these  pauses  of  silence,  it  was  impossible  to 
guess.  His  face,  at  other  times  singularly  mobile  and  expres- 
sive, became  almost  a  perfect  blank.  Had  he  suffered  some 
terrible  shock,  at  some  past  period  of  his  life  ?  and  had  his 
mind  never  quite  recovered  it?  I  longed  to  ask  him  the 
question,  and  yet  I  shrank  from  doing  it,  —  I  was  so  sadly 
afraid  of  distressing  him ;  or,  to  put  it  in  plainer  words,  I  was 
so  truly '  and  so  tenderly  fond  of  him. 

Then,  again,  though  he  was  ordinarily  the  most  gentle  and 
most  lovable  of  men,  there  were  occasions  when  he  would 
surprise  me  by  violent  outbreaks  of  temper,  excited  by  the 
merest  trifles.  A  dog  barking  suddenly  at  his  heels,  or  a 
boy  throwing  stones  in  the  road,  or  an  importunate  shop- 
keeper trying  to  make  him  purchase  something  that  he  did 
not  want,  would  throw  him  into  a  frenzy  of  rage  which  was, 
without  exaggeration,  really  alarming  to  see.  He  always 
apologized  for  these  outbreaks,  in  terms,  which  showed  that 
he  was  sincerely  ashamed  of  his  own  violence.  But  he  could 
never  succeed  in  controlling  himself.  The  lapses  into  pas- 


184  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

sion,  like  the  lapses  into  silence,  took  him  into  their  own 
possession,  and  did  with  him,  for  the  time  being,  just  what 
they  pleased. 

One  more  example  of  Roland's  peculiarities,  and  I  have 
done.  The  strangeness  of  his  conduct,  in  this-  case,  was 
noticed  by  my  father  and  my  brother  as  well  as  by  me. 

When  Roland  was  with  us  in  the  evening,  whether  he 
came  to  dinner  or  to  tea,  he  invariably  left  us  exactly  at 
nine  o'clock.  Try  as  we  might  to  persuade  him  to  stay 
longer,  he  always  politely  but  positively  refused.  Even  /  had 
no  influence  over  him  in  this  matter.  When  I  pressed  him 
to  remain,  —  though  it  cost  him  an  effort,  —  he  still  persisted 
in  retiring  exactly  as  the  clock  struck  nine.  He  gave  no 
reason  for  this  strange  proceeding  ;  he  only  said  that  it  was 
a  habit  of  his,  and  begged  us  to  indulge  him,  without  asking 
for  any  further  explanation.  My  father  and  my  brother  (being 
men)  succeeded  in  controlling  their  curiosity.  For  my  part 
(being  a  woman),  every  day  that  passed  only  made  me  more 
and  more  eager  to  penetrate  the  mystery.  I  privately  re- 
solved to  choose  my  time,  when  Roland  was  in  a  particularly 
accessible  humor,  and  then  to  appeal  to  him  for  the  explana- 
tion which  he  had  hitherto  refused,  as  a  special  favor  granted 
to  myself. 

In  two  days  more  I  found  my  opportunity. 

Some  friends  of  ours,  who  had  joined  us  at  Eastbourne, 
proposed  a  picnic  party  to  the  famous  neighboring  cliff  called 
Beachy  Head.  We  accepted  the  invitation.  The  day  was 
lovely,  and  the  gypsy  dinner  was,  as  usual,  infinitely  prefer- 
able (for  once  in  a  way)  to  a  formal  dinner  in-doors.  To- 
wards the  evening  our  little  assembly  separated  into  parties 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  185 

of  two  and  three,  to  explore  the  neighborhood.  Roland  and 
I  found  ourselves  together  as  a  matter  of  course.  We  were 
happy,  and  we  were  alone.  Was  it  the  right  or  the  wrong 
time  to  ask  the  fatal  question  ?  I  am  not  able  to  decide,  — 
I  only  know  that  I  asked  it. 

III. 

"  MR.  CAMERON,"  I  said,  "  will  you  make  allowances  for  a 
weak  womaji  ?  And  will  you  tell  me  something  that  I  am 
dying  to  know  ?  " 

He  walked  straight  into  the  trap,  —  with  that  entire  ab- 
sence of  ready  wit,  or  small  suspicion  (I  leave  you  to  choose 
the  right  phrase),  which  is  so  much  like  me'n,  and  so  little 
like  women. 

"  Of  course  I  will ! "  he  answered. 

"  Then  tell  me,"  I  asked,  "  why  do  you  always  insist  on 
leaving  us  at  nine  o'clock  ? " 

He  started,  and  looked  at  me,  so  sadly,  so  reproachfully, 
that  I  would  have  given  everything  I  possessed  to  recall  the 
rash  words  that  had  just  passed  my  lips. 

"  If  I  consent  to  tell  you,"  he  replied,  after  a  momentary 
struggle  with  himself,  "  will  you  let  me  put  a  question  to 
you  first  ?  and  will  you  promise  to  answer  it  ? " 

I  gave  him  my  promise,  and  waited  eagerly  for  what  was 
coming  next. 

"Miss  Brading,"  he  said,  "tell  me  honestly,  do  you  think 
I  am  mad  ?  " 

It  was  impossible  to  laugh  at  him  :  he  spoke  those  strange 
words  seriously,  sternly  I  might  almost  say. 

"No  such  thought  ever  entered  my  mind,"  I  answered. 


186  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

He  looked  at  me  very  earnestly. 

"  You  say  that,  on  your  word  of  honor  ? " 

"  On  my  word  of  honor." 

I  answered  with  perfect  sincerity  ;  and  I  evidently  satisfied 
him  that  I  had  spoken  the  truth.  He  took  my  hand,  and 
lifted  it  gratefully  to  his  lips. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  simply.     "  You  encourage  me  to  tell 
you  a  very  sad  story." 
.     "Your  own  story?"  I  asked. 

"  My  own  story.  Let  me  begin  by  telling  you  why  I  per- 
sist in  leaving  your  house,  always  at  the  same  early  hour. 
Whenever  I  go  out,  I  am  bound  by  a  promise  to  the  person 
with  whom  I  am  living  here,  to  return  at  a  quarter  past  nine 
o'clock." 

"  The  person  with  whom  you  are  living  ? "  I  repeated. 
:"  You  are  living  at  a  boarding-house,  are  you  not  ? " 

"  I  am  living,  Miss  Brading,  under  the  care  of  a  doctor 
who  keeps  an  asylum  for  the  insane.  He  has  taken  a  house 
for  some  of  his  wealthier  patients  at  the  seaside ;  and  he 
allows  me  my  liberty  in  the  daytime,  on  the  condition  that 
I  faithfully  perform ,  my  promise  at  night.  It  is  a  quarter  of 
an  hour's  walk  from  your  house  to  the  doctor's;  and  it  is  a 
rule  that  the  patients  retire  at  half  past  nine  o'clock." 

Here  was  the  mystery,  which  had  so  sorely  perplexed  me, 
revealed  at  last !  The  disclosure  literally  struck  me  speech- 
less. Unconsciously  and  instinctively  I  drew  back  from  him 
a  few  steps.  He  fixed  his  sad  eyes  on  me  with  a  touching 
look  of  entreaty. 

"  Don't  shrink  away  from  me  ! "  he  said.  "  You  don't  think 
I  am  mad  ?  " 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  187 

I  was  too  confused  and  distressed  to  know  what  to  say  ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  I  was  too  fond  of  him  not  to  an- 
swer that  appeal.  I  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  in  silence. 
He  turned  his  head  aside  for  a  moment.  I  thought  I  saw 
a  tear  on  his  cheek;  I  felt  his  hand  close  tremblingly  on 
mine.  He  mastered  himself  with  surprising  resolution:  he 
spoke  with  perfect  composure  when  he  looked  at  me  again. 

"  Do  you  care  to  hear  my  story,"  he  asked,  "  after  what 
I  have  just  told  you?" 

"  I  am  eager  to  hear  it,"  I  answered.  "  You  do  not  know 
how  I  feel  for  you  !  I  am  too  distressed  to  be  able  to  ex- 
press myself  in  words." 

"You  are  the  kindest  and  dearest  of  women!"  he  said, 
with  the  utmost  fervor  and  at  the  same  time  with  the  ut- 
most respect. 

We  sat  down  together  in  a  grassy  hollow  of  the  cliff,  with 
our  faces  towards  the  grand  gray  sea.  The  daylight  was  be- 
ginning to  fade,  as  I  heard  the  story  which  made  me  Roland 
Cameron's  wife. 

IV. 

"MY  mother  died  when  I  was  an  infant  in  arms,"  he  be- 
gan. "  My  father,  from  my  earliest  to  my  latest  recollec- 
tions, was  always  hard  towards  me.  I  have  been  told  that 
I  was  an  odd  child,  with  stBfnge  ways  of  my  own.  My 
father  detested  anything  that  was  strongly  marked,  anything 
out  of  the  ordinary  way,  in  the  characters  and  habits  of  the 
persons  about  him.  He  himself  lived  (as  the  phrase  is)  by 
line  and  rule ;  and  he  determined  to  make  his  son  follow 
his  example.  I  was  subjected  to  severe  discipline  at  school, 


188  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

and  I  was  carefully  watched  afterwards  at  college.  Looking 
back  on  my  early  life,  I  can  see  no  traces  of  happiness,  I 
can  find  no  tokens  of  sympathy.  Sad  submission  to  a  hard 
destiny,  weary  wayfaring  over  unfriendly  roads,  —  such  is  the 
story  of  my  life,  from  ten  years  old  to  twenty. 

"  I  passed  one  autumn  vacation  at  the  Lakes  ;  and  there 
I  met  by  accident  with  a  young  French  lady.  The  result  of 
that  meeting  decided  my  whole  after-life. 

"  She  filled  the  humble  position  of  nursery-governess  in  the 
house  of  a  wealthy  Englishman.  I  had  frequent  opportuni- 
ties of  seeing  her.  Her  life  had  been  a  hard  one,  like  mine. 
We  took  an  innocent  pleasure  in  each  other's  society.  Her 
little  experience  of  life  was  strangely  like  mine  :  there  was  a 
perfect  sympathy  of  thought  and  feeling  between  us.  We 
loved,  or  thought  we  loved.  I  was  not  twenty-one,  and  she 
was  not  eighteen,  when  I  asked  her  to  be  my  wife. 

"  I  can  understand  my  folly  now,  and  can  laugh  at  it  or 
lament  over  it,  as  the  humor  moves  me.  And  yet,  I  can't 
help  pitying  myself,  when  I  look  back  at  myself  at  that  time, 
—  I  was  so  young,  so  hungry  for  a  little  sympathy,  so  weary 
of  my  empty,  friendless  life!  Well,  everything  is  comparative 
in  this  world.  I  was  soon  to  regret,  bitterly  to  regret,  that 
friendless  life,  wretched  as  it  was. 

"  The  poor  girl's  employer  found  out  our  attachment,  through 
his  wife.  He  at  once  communicated  with  my  father. 

"My  father  had  but  one  word  to  say,  —  he  insisted  on  my 
going  abroad,  and  leaving  it  to  him  to  release  me  from  my 
absurd  engagement,  in  my  absence.  I  answered  him  that  I 
should  be  of  age  in  a  few  months,  and  that  I  was  determined 
to  marry  the  girl.  He  gave  me  three  days  to  reconsider  my 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  189 

resolution.  I  held  to  my  resolution.  In  a  week  afterwards, 
I  was  declared  insane  by  two  medical  men  ;  and  I  was  placed 
by  my  father  in  a  lunatic  asylum. 

"Was  it  an  act  of  insanity  for  the  son  of  a  gentleman, 
with  great  expectations  before  him,  to  propose  marriage  to 
a  nursery-governess  ?  I  declare,  as  God  is  my  witness,  I 
know  of  no  other  act  of  mine  which  could  justify  my  father, 
and  justify  the  doctors,  in  placing  me  under  restraint. 

"  I  was  three  years  in  the  asylum.  It  was  officially  reported 
that  the  air  did  not  agree  with  me.  I  was  removed,  for  two 
years  more,  to  another  asylum,  in  a  remote  part  of  England. 
For  the  five  best  years  of  my  life  I  have  been  herded  with 
madmen,  —  and  my  reason  has  survived  it.  The  impression 
I  produce  on  you,  on  your  father,  on  your  brother,  on  all  our 
friends  at  this  picnic,  is  that  I  am  as  reasonable  as  the  rest 
of  my  fellow-creatures.  Am  I  rushing  to  a  hasty  conclusion, 
when  I  assert  myself  to  be  now,  and  always  to  have  been,  a 
sane  man  ? 

"At  the  end  of  my  five  years  of  arbitrary  imprisonment  in 
a  free  country,  happily  for  me,  —  I  am  ashamed  to  say  it,  but 
I  must  speak  the  truth, — happily  for  me,  my  merciless  father 
died.  His  trustees,  to  whom  I  was  now  consigned,  felt  some 
pity  for  me.  They  could  not  take  the  responsibility  of  grant- 
ing me  my  freedom.  But  they  placed  me  under  the  care  of 
a  surgeon,  who  received  me  into  his  private  residence,  and 
who  allowed  me  free  exercise  in  the  open  air. 

"A  year's  trial  in  this  new  mode  of  life  satisfied  the  surgeon, 
and  satisfied  every  one  else  who  took  the  smallest  interest  in 
me,  that  I  was  perfectly  fit  to  enjoy  my  liberty.  I  was  freed 
from  all  restraint,  and  was  permitted  to  reside  with  a  near 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 

relative  of  mine,  in  that  very  Lake  country  which  had  been 
the  scene  of  my  fatal  meeting  with  the  French  girl,  six  years 
since. 

"In  this  retirement  I  lived  happily,  satisfied  with  the  ordi- 
nary pleasures  and  pursuits  of  a  country  gentleman.  Time 
had  long  since  cured  me  of  my  boyish  infatuation  for  the 
nursery-governess.  I  could  revisit  with  perfect  composure 
the  paths  along  which  we  had  walked,  the  lake  on  which  we 
had  sailed  together.  Hearing  by  chance  that  she  was  mar- 
ried in  her  own  country,  I  could  wish  her  all  possible  happi- 
ness, with  the  sober  kindness  of  a  disinterested  friend.  What 
a  strange  thread  of  irony  runs  through  the  texture  of  the 
simplest  human  life!  The  early  love  for  which  I  had  sacri- 
ficed and  suffered  so  much  was  now  revealed  to  me,  in  its 
true  colors,  as  a  boy's  passing  fancy,  —  nothing  more! 

"  Three  years  of  peaceful  freedom  passed  ;  freedom  which, 
on  the  uncontradicted  testimony  of  respectable  witnesses,  I 
never  abused.  Well,  that  long  and  happy  interval,  like  all 
intervals,  came '  to  its  end ;  and  then  the  great  misfortune 
of  my  life  fell  upon  me.  One  of  my  uncles  died  and  left  me 
inheritor  of  his  whole  fortune.  I  alone,  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  the  other  heirs,  now  received,  not  only  the  large  income 
derived  from  his  estates,  but  seventy  thousand  pounds  in 
ready  money  as  well. 

"The  vile  calumny  which  had  asserted  me  to  be  mad  was 
now  revived  by  the  wretches  interested  in  stepping  between 
me  and  my  inheritance.  A  year  ago,  I  was  sent  back  again 
to  the  asylum  in  which  I  had  been  last  imprisoned.  The  pre- 
tence for  confining  me  was  found  in  an  act  of  violence  (as  it 
was  called)  which  I  had  committed  in  a  momentary  outbreak 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  191 

of  anger,  and  which  it  was  acknowledged  had  led  to  no 
serious  results.  Having  got  me  into  the  asylum,  the  con- 
spirators proceeded  to  complete  their  work.  A  Commission 
in  Lunacy  was  issued  against  me.  It  was  held  by  one  com- 
missioner, without  a  jury,  and  without  the  presence  of  a  law- 
yer to  assert  my  interests.  By  one  man's  decision,  I  was 
declared  to  be  of  unsound  mind.  The  custody  of  my  person, 
and  the  management  of  my  estates,  was  confided  to  men 
chosen  from  among  the  conspirators  who  had  declared  me  to 
be  mad.  I  am  here  through  the  favor  of  the  proprietor  of 
the  asylum,  who  has  given  me  my  holiday  at  the  seaside, 
and  who  humanely  trusts  me  with  my  liberty,  as  you  see. 
At  barely  thirty  years  old,  I  am  refused  the  free  use  of  my 
money  and  the  free  management  of  my  affairs.  At  barely 
thirty  years  old,  I  am  officially  declared  to  be  a  lunatic  for 
life." 

V. 

HE  paused;  his  head  sank  on  his  breast;  his  story  was 
told. 

I  have  repeated  his  words  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember 
them  ;  but  I  can  give  no  idea  of  the  modest  and  touching 
resignation  with  which  he  spoke.  To  say  that  I  pitied  him 
with  my  whole  heart,  is  to  say  nothing.  I  loved  him  with 
my  whole  heart, —  and  I  may  acknowledge  it  now! 

"  O,  Mr.  Cameron,"  I  said,  as  soon  as  I  could  trust  myself 
to  speak,  "  can  nothing  be  done  to  help  you  ?  Is  there  no 
hope  ? " 

" There,  is  always  hope,"  he  answered,  without  raising  his 
head.  "  I  have  to  thank  you,  Miss  Brading,  for  teaching  me 
that." 


IQ2  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

"  To  thank  me  ? "  I  repeated.  "  How  have  I  taught  you  to 
hope  ? " 

"You  have  brightened  my  dreary  life.  When  I  am  with 
you,  all  my  bitter  remembrances  leave  me.  I  am  a  happy 
man  again ;  and  a  happy  man  can  always  hope.  I  dream 
now  of  finding,  what  I  have  never  yet  had,  a  dear  and  de- 
voted friend,  who  will  rouse  the  energy  that  has  sunk  in  me 
under  the  martyrdom  that  I  have  endured.  Why  do  I  sub- 
mit to  the  loss  of  my  rights  and  my  liberty,  without  an  effort 
to  recover  them  ?  I  was  alone  in  the  world,  until  I  met  with 
you.  I  had  no  kind  hand  to  raise  me,  no  kind  voice  to 
encourage  me.  Shall  I  ever  find  the  hand  ?  Shall  I  ever 
hear  the  voice  ?  When  I  am  with  you,  the  hope  that  you 
have  taught  me  answers,  Yes.  When  I  am  by  myself,  the 
the  old  despair  comes  back,  and  says,  No." 

He  lifted  his  head  for  the  first  time.  If  I  had  not  under- 
stood what  his  words  meant,  his  look  would  have  enlightened 
me.  The  tears  came  into  my  eyes ;  my  heart  heaved  and 
fluttered  wildly;  my  hands  mechanically  tore « up  and  scat- 
tered the  grass  around  me.  The  silence  became  unendura- 
ble. I  spoke,  hardly  knowing  what  I  was  saying  ;  tearing 
faster  and  faster  the  poor  harmless  grass,  as  if  my  whole 
business  in  life  was  to  pull  up  the  greatest  quantity  in  the 
shortest  possible  space  of  time ! 

"  We  have  only  known  each  other  a  little  while/'  I  said. 
"  And  a  woman  is  but  a  weak  ally  in  such  a  terrible  posi- 
tion as  yours.  But  useless  as  I  may  be,  count  on  me  now 
and  always  as  your  friend  —  " 

He  moved  close  to  me  before  I  could  say  more,  and  took 
my  hand.  He  murmured  in  my  ear, 


u  jj  J  v,  <j  y 

U  ,\  L  \  y  u 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE. 

"  May  I  count  on  you,  one  day,  as  the  nearest  and  dearest 
friend  of  all  ?  Will  you  forgive  me,  Mary,  if  I  own  that  I 
love  you  ?  You  have  taught  me  to  love,  as  you  have  taught 
me  to  hope.  It  is  in  your  power  to  lighten  my  hard  lot. 
You  can  recompense  me  for  all  that  I  have  suffered  ;  you 
can  rouse  me  to  struggle  for  my  freedom  and  my  rights. 
Be  the  good  angel  of  my  life.  Forgive  me,  love  me,  rescue 
me,  —  be  my  wife  !" 

I  don't  know  how  it  happened.  I  found  myself  in  his 
arms,  and  I  answered  him  in  a  kiss.  Taking  all  the  circum- 
stances into  consideration,  I  daresay  I  was  guilty,  in  accept- 
ing him,  of  the  rashest  act  that  ever  a  woman  committed. 
Very  well.  I  did  n't  care  then :  I  don't  care  now.  I  was 
then,  and  I  am  now,  the  happiest  woman  living! 


VI. 

IT  was  necessary  that  either  he  or  I  should  tell  my  father 
of  what  had  passed  between  us.  On  reflection,  I  thought  it 
best  that  I  should  make  the  disclosure.  The  day  after  the 
picnic,  I  repeated  to  my  father  Roland's  melancholy  narrative, 
as  a  necessary  preface  to  the  announcement  that  I  had  prom- 
ised to  be  Roland's  wife. 

My  father  saw  the  obvious  objections  to  the  marriage,  He 
warned  me  of  the  imprudence  which  I  contemplated  commit- 
ting, in  the  strongest  terms.  Our  prospect  of  happiness,  if 
we  married,  in  our  present  position,  would  depend  entirely  on 
our  capacity  to  legally  supersede  the  proceedings  of  the 
Lunacy  Commission.  Success  in  this  arduous  undertaking  was, 
to  say  the  least  of  it,  uncertain.  The  commonest  prudence 


IQ4  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

pointed  to  the  propriety  of  delaying  our  marriage  until  the 
doubtful  experiment  had  been  put  to  the  proof. 

This  reasoning  was  unanswerable.  It  was,  nevertheless, 
completely  thrown  away  upon  me.  When  did  a  woman  in 
love  ever  listen  to  reason  ?  I  believe  there  is  no  instance  of 
it  on  record.  My  father's  wise  words  of  caution  had  no 
chance  against  Roland's  fervent  entreaties.  The  days  of  his 
residence  at  Eastbourne  were  drawing  to  a  close.  If  I  let 
him  return  to  the  asylum  an  unmarried  man,  months,  years 
perhaps,  might  pass  before  our  union  could  take  place.  Could 
I  expect  him,  could  I  expect  any  man,  to  endure  that  cruel 
separation,  that  unrelieved  suspense  ?  His  mind  had  been 
sorely  tried  already ;  his  mind  might  give  way  under  it. 
These  were  the  arguments  that  carried  weight  with  them,  in 
my  judgment !  I  was  of  age,  and  free  to  act  as  I  pleased. 
You  are  welcome,  if  you  like,  to  consider  me  the  most  fool- 
ish and  the  most  obstinate  of  women.  In  sixteen  days  from 
the  date  of  the  picnic,  Roland  and  I  were  privately  married 
at  Eastbourne. 

My  father  —  more  grieved  than  angry,  poor  man  !  —  de- 
clined to  be  present  at  the  ceremony,  in  justice  to  himself. 
My  brother  gave  me  away  at  the  altar. 

Roland  and  I  spent  the  afternoon  of  the  wedding-day  and 
the  earlier  part  of  the  evening  together.  At  nine  o'clock, 
he  returned  to  the  doctor's  house,  exactly  as  usual ;  having 
previously  explained  to  me  that  he  was  in  the  power  of  the 
Court  of  Chancery,  and  that  until  we  succeeded  in  setting 
aside  the  proceedings  of  the  Lunacy  Commission,  there  was  a 
serious  necessity  for  keeping  the  marriage  strictly  secret. 
My  husband  and  I  kissed,  and  said  good  by  till  to-morrow, 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  195 

as  the  clock  struck  the  hour.  I  little  thought,  while  I  looked 
after  him  from  the  street  door,  that  months  on  months  were 
to  pass  before  I  saw  Roland  again. 

A  hurried  note  from  my  husband  reached  me  the  next 
morning.  Our  marriage  had  been  discovered  (we  never  could 
tell  by  whom),  and  we  had  been  betrayed  to  the  doctor.  Ro- 
land was  then  on  his  way  back  to  the  asylum.  He  had  been 
warned  that  force  would  be  used  if  he  resisted.  Knowing 
that  resistance  would  be  interpreted,  in  his  case,  as  a  new 
outbreak  of  madness,  he  had  wisely  submitted.  "  I  have  made 
the  sacrifice,"  the  letter  concluded,  "  it  is  now  for  you  to 
help  me.  Attack  the  Commission  in  Lunacy,  and  be  quick 
about  it." 

We  lost  no  time  in  preparing  for  the  attack.  On  the  day 
when  I  received  the  news  of  our  misfortune,  we  left  Eastbourne 
for  London,  and  at  once  took  measures  to  obtain  the  best  legal 
advice. 

My  dear  father  —  though  I  was  far  from  deserving  his  kind- 
ness—  entered  into  the  matter  heart  and  soul.  In  due  course 
of  time,  we  presented  a  petition  to  the  Lord  Chancellor,  pray- 
ing that  the  decision  of  the  lunacy  commission  might  be  set 
aside.  N 

We  supported  our  petition  by  citing  the  evidence  of  Roland's 
friends  and  neighbors,  during  his  three  years'  residence  in 
the  Lake  country  as  a  free  man.  These  worthy  people  had 
one  and  all  agreed  that  he  was,  as  to  their  judgment  and 
experience,  perfectly  quiet,  harmless,  and  sane.  Many  of  them 
had  gone  out  shooting  with  him.  Others  had  often  accompa- 
nied him  in  sailing  excursions  on  the  lake.  Do  people  trust 
a  madman  with  a  gun,  and  with  the  management  of  a  boat  ? 


ig6  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

As  to  the  "act  of  violence,"  which  the  heirs  at  law  and  the 
next  of  kin  had  made  the  means  of  imprisoning  Roland  in 
the  madhouse,  it  amounted  to  this.  He  had  lost  his  temper, 
and  had  knocked  a  man  down  who  had  offended  him.  Very 
wrong,  no  doubt  ;  but  if  that  is  a  proof  of  madness,  what 
thousands  of  lunatics  are  still  at  large !  Another  instance 
produced  to  prove  his  insanity  was  still  more  absurd.  It  was 
solemnly  declared  that  he  put  an  image  of  the  Virgin  Mary 
in  his  boat  when  he  went  out  on  his  sailing  excursions  !  I 
have  seen  the  image,  —  it  was  a  very  beautiful  work  of  art. 
Was  Roland  mad  to  admire  it,  and  take  it  with  him  ?  His 
religious  convictions  leaned  towards  Catholicism.  If  he  be- 
trayed insanity  in  adorning  his  boat  with  an  image  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  what  is  the  mental  condition  of  most  of  the 
ladies  in  Christendom,  who  wear  the  Cross  as  an  ornament 
round  their  necks?  We  advanced  these  arguments  in  our 
petition,  after  quoting  the  evidence  of  the  witnesses.  And, 
more  than  this,  we  even  went  the  length  of  admitting,  as  an 
act  of  respect  to  the  Court,  that  my  poor  husband  might  be 
eccentric  in  some  of  his  opinions  and  habits.  But  we  put  it 
to  the  authorities  whether  better  results  might  not  be  expected 
from  placing  him  under  the  care  of  a  wife  who  loved  him, 
and  whom  he  loved,  than  from  shutting  him  up  in  an  asylum, 
among  incurable  madmen  as  his  companions  for  life. 

Such  was  our  petition,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to  describe  it. 

The  decision  rested  with  the  Lords  Justices.  They  decided 
against  us. 

Turning  a  deaf  ear  to  our  witnesses  and  our  arguments, 
these  tnerciless  lawyers  declared  that  the  doctor's  individual 
assertion  of  my  husband's  insanity  was  enough  for  them. 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  IQ7 

They  considered  Roland's  comfort  to  be  sufficiently  provided 
for  in  the  asylum,  with  an  allowance  of  seven  hundred  pounds 
a  year ;  and  to  the  asylum  they  consigned  him  for  the  rest 
of  his  days. 

So  far  as  I  was  concerned,  the  result  of  this  infamous  judg- 
ment was  to  deprive  me  of  the  position  of  Roland's  wife ;  no 
lunatic  being  capable  of  contracting  marriage  by  law.  So  far 
as  my  husband  was  concerned,  the  result  may  be  best  stated 
in  the  language  of  a  popular  newspaper  which  published  an 
article  on  the  case.  "It  is  possible,"  (said  the  article,  —  I 
wish  I  could  personally  thank  the  man  who  wrote  it !)  "  for 
the  Court  of  Chancery  to  take  a  man  who  has  a  large  for- 
tune, and  is  in  the  prime  of  life,  but  is  a  little  touched  in  the 
head,  and  make  a  monk  of  him,  and  then  report  to  itself 
that  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  the  lunatic  have  been  effect- 
ually provided  for  at  the  expenditure  of  seven  hundred  pounds 
a  year." 

Roland  was  determined,  however,  that  they  should  not  make 
a  monk  of  him ;  and,  you  may  rely  upon  it,  so  was  I  ! 

But  one  alternative  was  left  to  us.  The  authority  of  the 
Court  of  Chancery  (within  its  jurisdiction)  is  the  most  des- 
potic authority  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Our  one  hope  was 
in  taking  to  flight.  The  price  of  our  liberty,  as  citizens  of 
England,  was  exile  from  our  native  country,  and  the  entire 
abandonment  of  Roland's  fortune.  We  accepted  those  hard 
conditions.  Hospitable  America  offered  us  a  refuge,  beyond 
the  reach  of  mad-doctors  and  Lords  Justices.  To  hospitable 
America  our  hearts  turned  as  to  our  second  country.  The 
serious  question  was,  —  how  were  we  to  get  there  ? 

We  had  attempted  to  correspond,  and  had  failed.     Our  let- 


198  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

ters  had  been  discovered  and  seized  by  the  proprietor  of  the 
asylum.  Fortunately,  we  had  taken  the  precaution  of  writing 
in  a  "  cipher "  of  Roland's  invention,  which  he  had  taught 
me  before  our  marriage.  Though  our  letters  were  illegible, 
our  purpose  was  suspected,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  and  a  watch 
was  kept  on  my  husband,  night  and  day. 

Foiled  in  our  first  effort  at  making  arrangements  secretly 
for  our  flight,  we  continued  our  correspondence  (still  in  cipher), 
by  means  of  advertisements  in  the  newspapers.  This  second 
attempt  was  discovered  in  its  turn.  Roland  was  refused  per- 
mission to  subscribe  to  the  newspapers,  and  was  forbidden 
to  enter  the  reading-room  at  the  asylum. 

These  tyrannical  prohibitions  came  too  late.  Our  plans 
had  already  been  communicated :  we  understood  each  other, 
and  we  had  now  only  to  bide  our  time.  We  had  arranged 
that  my  brother,  and  a  friend  of  his  on  whose  discretion  we 
could  thoroughly  rely,  should  take  it  in  turns  to  watch  every 
evening,  for  a  given  time,  at  an  appointed  meeting-place, 
three  miles  distant  from  the  asylum.  The  spot  had  been 
carefully  chosen.  It  was  on  the  bank  of  a  lonely  stream,  and 
close  to  the  outskirts  of  a  thick  wood.  A  water-proof  knap- 
sack, containing  a  change  of  clothes,  a  false  beard  and  a  wig, 
and  some  biscuits  and  preserved  meat,  was  hidden  in  a  hollow 
tree.  My  brother  and  his  friend  always  took  their  fishing- 
rods  with  them,  and  presented  themselves  as  engaged  in  the 
innocent  occupation  of  angling,  to  any  chance  strangers  who 
might  pass  within  sight  of  them.  On  one  occasion  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  asylum  himself  rode  by  them,  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  stream,  and  asked  politely  if  they  had  had  good 
sport ! 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  199 

For  a  fortnight,  these  stanch  allies  of  ours  relieved  each 
other  regularly  on  their  watch,  and  no  signs  of  the  fugitive 
appeared.  On  the  fifteenth  evening,  just  as  the  twilight  was 
changing  into  night,  and. just  as  my  brother  (whose  turn  it 
was)  had  decided  on  leaving  the  place,  Roland  suddenly  joined 
him  on  the  bank  of  the  stream. 

Without  wasting  a  moment  in  words,  the  two  at  once  en- 
tered the  wood,  and  took  the  knapsack  from  its  place  of  shel- 
ter in  the  hollow  tree.  In  ten  minutes  more,  my  husband  was 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  workman's  clothes,  and  was  further  dis- 
guised in  the  wig  and  beard.  The  two  then  set  forth  down 
the  course  of  the  stream,  keeping  in  the  shadow  of  the  wood 
until  the  night  had  fallen  and  the  darkness  hid  them.  The 
night  was  cloudy  :  there  was  no  moon.  After  walking  two 
miles,  or  a  little  more,  they  altered  their  course,  and  made 
boldly  for  the  high  road  to  Manchester;  entering  on  it  at  a 
point  some  thirty  miles  distant  from  the  city. 

On  their  way  from  the  wood,  Roland  described  the  manner 
in  which  he  had  effected  his  escape. 

The  story  was  simple  enough.  He  had  assumed  to  be 
suffering  from  nervous  illness,  and  had  requested  to  have  his 
meals  in  his  own  room.  For  the  first  fortnight,  the  two  men 
appointed  to  wait  upon  him  in  succession,  week  by  week, 
were  both  more  than  his  match  in  strength.  The  third  man 
employed,  at  the  beginning  of  the  third  week,  was,  physically, 
a  less  formidable  person  than  his  predecessors.  Seeing  this, 
Roland  decided,  wjien  evening  came,  on  committing  another 
"  act  of  violence."  In  plain  words,  he  sprang  upon  the  keeper, 
waiting  on  him  in  his  room,  and  gagged  and  bound  the  man. 
This  done,  he  laid  the  unlucky  keeper  (face  to  the  wall)  on 


200  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

his  own  bed,  covered  with  his  own  cloak,  so  that  any  one 
entering  the  room  might  suppose  that  he  was  lying  down 
to  rest.  He  had  previously  taken  the  precaution  to  remove 
the  sheets  from  the  bed  ;  and  he  had  now  only  to  tie  them 
together  to  escape  by  the  window  of  his  room,  situated  on 
the  upper  floor  of  the  house.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  the 
inmates  of  the  asylum  were  at  tea.  After  narrowly  missing 
discovery  by  one  of  the  laborers  employed  in  £he  grounds,  he 
had  climbed  the  garden  enclosure,  and  had  dropped  on  the 
other  side,  a  free  man  ! 

Arrived  on  the  high  road  to  Manchester,  my  husband  and 
my  brother  parted. 

Roland,  who  was  an  excellent  walker,  set  forth  on  his  way 
to  Manchester  on  foot.  He  had  food  in  his  knapsack,  and  he 
proposed  to  walk  some  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  on  the  road  to 
the  city,  before  he  stopped  at  any  town  or  village  to  rest. 
My  brother,  who  was  physically  incapable  of  accompanying 
him,  returned  to  the  place  in  which  I  was  then  residing,  to 
tell  me  the  good  news. 

By  the  first  train  the  next  morning,  I  travelled  to  Manches- 
ter, and  took  a  lodging  in  a  suburb  of  the  city  well  known 
to  my  husband.  A  prim  smoky  little  square  was  in  the  imme- 
diate neighborhood  ;  and  we  had  arranged  that  whichever  of  us 
first  arrived  in  Manchester  should  walk  round  that  square,  be- 
tween twelve  and  one  in  the  afternoon,  and  between  six  and 
seven  in  the  evening.  In  the  evening  I  kept  my  appointment. 
A  dusty,  footsore  man,  in  shabby  clothes,  with  a  hideous  beard, 
and  a  knapsack  on  his  back,  met  me  at  my  first  walk  round. 
He  smiled  as  I  looked  at  him.  Ah  !  I  knew  that  smile- 
through  all  disguises !  In  spite  of  the  Court  of  Chancery 


A    FATAL    FORTUNE.  2OI 

and  the  Lords  Justices,  I  was  in  my  husband's  arms  once 
more. 

We  lived  quietly  in  our  retreat  for  a  month. 

During  that  time  (as  I  heard  by  letters  from  my  brother) 
nothing  that  money  and  cunning  could  do  towards  discover- 
ing Roland,  was  left  untried  by  the  proprietor  of  the  asylum 
and  by  the  persons  acting  with  him.  But  where  is  the  cun- 
ning which  can  trace  a  man,  who,  escaping  at  night  in  dis- 
guise, has  not  trusted  himself  to  a  railway  or  a  carriage,  and 
who  takes  refuge  in  a  great  city  in  which  he  has  no  friends  ? 
At  the  end  of  one  month  in  Manchester,  we  travelled  north- 
ward ;  crossed  the  channel  to  Ireland,  and  passed  a  pleasant 
fortnight  in  Dublin.  Leaving  this  again,  we  made  our  way  to 
Cork  and  Queenstown,  and  embarked  from  that  latter  place, 
taking  steerage  passage  in  a  steamship  bound  for  America. 

My  story  is  told.  I  am  writing  these  lines  from  a  'farm  in 
the  West  of  the  United  States.  Our  neighbors  may  be  homely 
enough,  but  the  roughest  of  them  is  kinder  to  us  than  a 
mad-doctor  or  a  Lord  Justice.  Roland  is  happy  in  those  agri- 
cultural pursuits  which  have  always  been  favorite  pursuits 
with  him;  and  I  am  happy  with  Roland.  Our  sole  resources 
consist  of  my  humble  little  fortune,  inherited  from  my  dear 
mother.  After  deducting  our  travelling  expenses,  the  sum 
total  amounts  to  between  seven  and  eight  hundred  pounds  ; 
and  this,  as  we  find,  is  amply  sufficient  to  start  us  in  the  new 
life  that  we  have  chosen.  We  expect  my  father  and  my 
brother  to  pay  us  a  visit  next  summer ;  and  I  think  it  just 
possible  that  they  may  find  our  family  circle  increased  by  the 
presence  of  a  new  member  in  long  clothes.  Are  there  no 
compensations  here,  for  exile  from  England  and  the  loss  of  a 


202  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

fortune?  We  think  there  are.  But  then,  my  dear  Miss  An- 
stell,  "  Mary  Brading's  husband  is  mad  ;  and  Mary  Brading 
herself  is  not  much  better." 

If  you  feel  inclined  to  alter  this  opinion,  and  if  you  re- 
member our  old  days  at  school  as  tenderly  as  I  remember 
them,  write  and  tell  me  so.  Your  letter  will  be  forwarded, 
if  you  send  it  to  the  enclosed  address  at  New  York. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  moral  of  our  story  seems  to  be 
worthy  of  serious  consideration.  A  certain  Englishman  legally 
inherits  a  large  fortune.  At  the  time  of  his  inheritance,  he 
has  been  living  as  a  free  man  for  three  years,  without  once 
abusing  his  freedom,  and  with  the  express  sanction  of  the 
medical  superintendent  who  has  had  experience  and  charge 
of  him.  His  next  of  kin  and  heirs  at  law  (who  are  left  out 
of  the  fortune)  look  with  covetous  eyes  at  the  money,  and  de- 
termine to  get  the  management  and  the  ultimate  possession 
of  it.  Assisted  by  a  doctor,  whose  honesty  and  capacity 
must  be  taken  on  trust,  these  interested  persons,  in  this  nine- 
teenth century  of  progress,  can  lawfully  imprison  their  relative 
for  life,  in  a  country  which  calls  itself  free,  and  which  declares 
that  its  justice  is  equally  administered  to  all  alike. 


NOTE.  —  The  reader  is  informed  that  this  story  is  founded,  in  all  essen- 
tial particulars,  on  a  case  which  actually  occurred  in  England,  eight  years 

since. 

W.  C. 


IN  ECHO  CANON. 


IN    ECHO    CANON. 

BY    NOAH    BROOKS. 

E  had  been  several  days  in  Echo  Canon. 
This  picturesque  defile  in  the  Wahsatch 
range  of  mountains  is  not  so  extensive  that 
one  need  long  tarry  there  if  in  haste. 
Nowadays  the  passenger-trains  of  the  Pa- 
cific Railroad  are  whisked  through  it  so 
rapidly,  that  the  wondering  tourist  hardly  gets  a  sight  of  the 
striking  panorama  on  either  side  of  him.  But  in  the  early 
times  of  California  emigration,  of  which  I  shall  write,  Echo 
Canon  was  a  favorite  place  for  the  rest  and  refreshment 
needed  by  men  and  beasts  weary  with  a  long  tramp  through 
dust  and  heat  and  over  stony  trails  and  alkaline  deserts,  all 
the  way  from  "  the  States."  ,  The  canon  was  filled  with  ver- 
dure ;  along  the  banks  of  a  small  stream  that  wound  through 
it  were  graceful  birches,  alders,  and  box-elders,  with  many  a 
silvery  cottonwood  and  sturdy  young  sycamore.  The  under- 
growth was  a  tangle  of  sumach-bushes,  wild  vines,  and  flower- 
ing shrubs.  Here  and  there  were  sunny  patches  of  rich  grass  ; 
and  in  the  rocky  edges  of  the  winding  defile  grew  salmon- 
berries,  gooseberries,  and  wild  currants  in  great  profusion. 

The  walls  of  the  canon  are  precipitous  ;   the  beetling  cliffs 
rise    three  or   four   hundred    feet    on    either    side   in   fantastic 


206  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

shapes,  resembling  castles,  turrets,  spires,  and  airy  domes. 
The  prevailing  tint  of  these  mimic  architectural  wonders  is  a 
mellow  yellow.  The  walls  and  flying  buttresses  are  flecked 
with  red  and  orange.  The  crumbling  mass,  broad  in  its 
effect  of  light  and  color,  is  clouded  with  all  hues  of  buff  drab, 
pale  umber,  and  saffron.  I  have  seen  the  rich  heart  of  a 
Cheshire  cheese  present  the  same  tones  and  melting  shades. 
This  figure  is  not  a  lofty  one,  but  it  will  occur  to  the  un- 
romantic  observer.  Shut  in  by  these  glorious  cliffs,  abun- 
dant in  water,  fuel,  and  pasturage,  —  three  things  most  desired 
by  the  overland  emigrant,  —  Echo  Canon  detained  our  little 
party  many  days.  We  rested  luxuriously  in  the  midst  of  the 
cool  herbage.  Wagons  were  mended,  clothes  once  more 
patched  up,  cattle  were  allowed  to  wander  at  their  own 
sweet  will,  wild  berries  from  the  vines  about  us  refreshed 
palates  weary  of  the  unvarying  fare  of  bread  and  "  side 
meat,"  and,  above  all,  we  were  secure  from  Indian  alarms. 

In  my  day  I  have  been  in  many  charming  places  enriched 
by  the  hand  of  Nature  or  Art,  have  enjoyed  lotos-eating  in 
great  content,  and  have  sat  at  costly  feasts  ;  but  above  all 
the  pleasures  that  have  ministered  to  the  senses  in  all  my 
years,  I  still  give  chief  place  to  those  two  or  three  days 
of  camp-life  in  Echo  Canon.  The  wild  world  of  disappoint- 
ment was  months  behind  us ;  the  wilder  world  of  struggle 
was  weeks  before  us  ;  and  we  four  brawny  youths,  jaded  and 
footsore,  bearing  upon  us  the  marks  of  long  marches  in  alkali 
dust,  midnight  adventures  in  the  Indian  country,  and  perilous 
climbings  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  flung  ourselves  down  in 
the  lush  grass,  and,  eying  the  blue  vault  that  bent  over 
thicket,  stream,  and  cliff,  murmured,  "  This  is  heaven  !  " 


IN   ECHO    CANON.  207 

To  the  California  emigrant  in  those  far-off  days  the  world 
was  comprised  in  the  thread  along  which  desultory  travel 
passed  to  and  .fro  across  the  continent.  Four  months  were 
usually  consumed  by  an  emigrant  train  passing  from  the  Mis- 
souri to  the  Sacramento.  With  the  last  newspaper  was  dropped, 
not  unwillingly,  the  last  link  that  bound  the  gold-seeker  to  the 
life  that  he  had  known.  Henceforth,  without  impatience,  he 
stretched  his  hands  and  eyes  towards  the  golden  west.  Tid- 
ings of  that  far-away' land  came  to  him  in  fragments,  rumors, 
and  vague  whispers.  But  mainly  was  he  occupied  with  the 
gossip  and  slow-travelling  reports  that  slid  backward  and  for- 
ward on  his  line  of  march.  Outside  this  narrow  channel  of 
communication  the  world  might  go  to  wreck  ;  he  would  not 
know  it.  He  would  not  greatly  worry  about  the  concerns  of 
empires,  kingdoms,  and  republics,  so  long  as  tidings  of  them 
were  as  completely  beyond  his  reach  as  if  he  were  travelling 
in  the  moon.  He  left  civilization  and  the  Missouri  River  be- 
hind him  ;  the  Sacramento  and  something  else  were  before  ; 
all  between  was  his  present  world,  in  which  the  things  which 
concern  the  majority  of  mankind  had  no  possible  represen- 
tation. 

Little  by  little,  after  we  were  fairly  launched  upon  the  con- 
tinental waste,  we  knew  our  companions  ;  not  those  who  sat 
at  our  camp-fires  and  slept  under  our  tent,  but  the  mighty 
multitude  before  us  and  behind  us.  Motley  they  were,  and 
divers  their  names.  Each  party  had  its  individuality.  There 
were  the  Boston  Chaps,  the  Jennesses,  the  Swearing  Brothers, 
Big  Jake  and  his  Boy,  the  Kewanee  Fellers,  the  Man  with 
the  Go-cart,  the  Brown  Boys,  the  Wises,  Old  Missourah, 
Toothpicks,  and  innumerable  other  little  communities,  nightly 


208  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

pitching  their  moving  camps  a  day's  march  farther  westward, 
but  each  more  truly  individual  than  your  next-door  neighbor 
is  to  you.  These  all  stretched  along  the  sinuous  line  that 
marked  the  trail  across  the  continent. 

Passing  and  repassing  each  other,  day  after  day  and  week 
after  week,  they  learned  the  antecedents,  characteristics,  and 
adventures  of  each,  so  far  as  these  were  communicable.  A 
helpful,  neighborly  set  of  fellows  were  those  rough  pioneers 
of  a  new  civilization.  They  made  common  cause  of  each 
other's  difficulties  when  they  met  at  dangerous  fords,  steep 
trails,  and  other  trying  passages  by  the  way.  Common 
perils  brought  wayfaring  groups  into  common  sympathy  for 
the  time  ;  then,  the  emergency  passed,  each  went  toiling,  re- 
joicing, sorrowing,  cursing,  or  singing  on  its  way.  We  knew 
the  dispositions  and  fortunes  of  those  who  were  ahead  of  us, 
as  well  as  those  who  followed  hard  after  us.  The  men  by 
whom  we  camped  at  Independence  Rock  were  before  us  at 
Church  Buttes  ;  we  passed  them  at  Green  River,  but  they 
crossed  the  Sierra  Nevada  before  we  left  Honey  Lake.  This 
weaving  of  human  shuttles  to  and  fro  carried  the  thread  of 
news,  —  a  kind  of  intelligence  that  had  no  great  world  gossip 
in  it.  There  were  neighborhood  reports  of  quarrels,  fallings- 
out  by  the  way,  exploits  in  hunting,  condition  of  camping- 
places  ahead,  depth  of  streams  to  be  forded,  and  the  prices 
of  whiskey,  flour,  and  bacon  with  those  who  had  such  rations 
to  sell.  All  these  items  of  daily  news  were  colored  by  the 
hopes  and  fears,  passions  and  prejudices,  of  the  reporters.  I 
suppose  our  straggling  and  long-drawn  public  was  not,  after 
all,  much  unlike  any  other. 

One  sunny  Sunday  morning  in   Echo  Canon  we   were  sur- 


IN    ECHO   CANON.  209 

prised  by  a  visitor  from  a  camp  beyond  us.  Before  we  were 
astir,  he  rode  noisily  up  to  our  tent  and  bawled,  "  Hillo ! 
house!"  in  mild  derision  of  the  effeminacy  that  deterred  us 
from  sleeping  in  the  open  air  or  under  wagons,  as  was  the 
manner  of  most  journeyers.  We  scrambled  to  the  tent-flap 
with  a  rude  "Hillo!  hoss  ! "  which  rejoinder  so  tickled  our 
morning  caller  that  he  grinned  as  he  said,  "I  allow  you've 
got  a  shovel?" 

"  Yes,  we  have.     Want  it  ? " 

"  Ef  you  '11  lend  it  to  our  crowd  (we  're  the  Sandy  Hill 
Boys),  we'll  have  it  back  by  sundown.  We  want  to  bury  a 
man." 

"  Bury  a  man  !     Who  's  dead  up  your  way  ?  " 

"Well,  he  ain't  adzactly  dead  yit.  It's  Old  Missourah. 
He  's  bin  a-stealin'.  We  're  goin'  for  to  hold  a  court  onto  him 
at  noon,  and  hang  him  on  the  divide  at  four  o'clock,  sharp. 
Whar  's  yer  shovel  ?  Come  down  and  see  fair  play  ?  " 

Shocking  as  was  this  information,  it  was  not  novel,  though 
borrowing  a  shovel  to  dig  a  grave  for  a  man  not  yet  on  trial 
for  his  life  had  in  it  an  element  of  grotesque  newness  to  us. 

The  rude  announcement  of  our  visitor,  who  was  not  alto- 
gether a  stranger,  dispelled  the  calm  repose  of  Sunday  in  Echo 
Canon.  The  serene,  pastoral  stillness  was  gone,  and,  though 
the  ringing  echoes  of  departing  feet  died  away  as  Blue  Pete 
rode  down  the  Canon,  we  felt  that  with  him  had  gone  the 
brief  idyl  of  our  days  of  rest.  The  tender  sky  looked  down 
on  mimic  tower  and  spire  just  as  before ;  there  were  the 
golden  light  on  the  leaves  and  the  sober  twinkle  on  the 
stream,  but  human  crime  and  violence  were  just  ready  to 
stain  the  sylvan  purity  of  the  little  paradise. 


210  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Breakfast  over,  we  walked  down  the  trail  to  the  mouth  of 
the  canon  where  the  Sandy  Hill  Boys  were  camped.  The 
canon  widens  out  into  the  valley  of  the  Weber  River.  On 
the  right  the  ground  is  broken  by  a  ridge  or  divide  that 
pushes  into  the  undulating  valley  from  the  main  chain  here 
cleft  by  Echo  Canon.  Dotted  over  the  grassy  meadows  bor- 
dering the  river  were  four  or  five  camps,  each  distinguished 
by  its  cluster  of  wagons,  ox-yokes,  and  camp  furniture,  with 
here  and  there  a  weather-stained  canvas  tent.  Thin  smoke 
curled  up  from  the  smouldering  camp-fires.  Slatternly  women 
and  tow-headed  children  hovered  about  two  of  the  wagons ; 
and  some  little  attempt  at  old-time  decency  was  solemnly 
making  by  a  few  of  the  men  who  seemed  to  realize  the  im- 
pressive importance  of  the  approaching  "trial." 

We  knew  Old  Missourah,  the  culprit  in  this  little  tragedy. 
He  was  not  more  than  sixty  years  of  age,  perhaps  ;  but  his 
face  was  dry  and  wrinkled,  and  his  thin  long  hair  was  as 
white  as  snow.  He  was  a  solitary  traveller,  journeying  to 
find  his  sons,  who  had  gone  to  California  with  the  first  rush 
for  gold.  He  had  a  little  two-wheeled  canvas-covered  cart, 
drawn  by  a  very  small  mule,  or  burro,  so  small  that  when 
the  diminutive  equipage  came  in  sight  anywhere  along  the 
road,  the  rough  emigrants  were  ready  with  their  jokes.  Old 
Missourah  was  usually  advised  to  put  his  "hoss"  in  his  pocket 
lest  he  should  lose  him  ;  or  he  was  asked  the  price  of  rats  ; 
or  some  reference  was  made  to  the  length  of  his  legs  and  the 
size  of  his  go-cart.  All  along  the  trail,  Old  Missourah  and 
his  poor  little  team  were  as  well  known  as  Big  Jake,  who 
killed  four  men  while  running  a-muck  at  City  Rocks,  or  Bush 
the  Fiddler,  with  his  one  song  of  "  Lather  and  Shave." 


IN    ECHO    CANON.  211 

No  more  fun  now  for  Old  Missourah.  His  tall,  gaunt 
form  lashed  to  a  wagon-wheel,  his  head  bowed  upon  his 
breast,  he  was  the  image  of  helpless  and  guilty  despair.  A 
useless  keeper  stood  over  him,  offering  him  a  ration  of  bread 
and  coffee ;  but  the  old  man,  his  thoughts  apparently  far 
away,  painfully  waved  his  pinioned  hands  in  refusal. 

It  was  a  short  story.  Old  Missourah  was  charged  with 
stealing  seventy-eight  dollars  and  fifty  cents,  in  gold  and 
silver  coin,  from  Shanghai,  a  simple  fellow,  one  of  the  Ver- 
million  County  Boys.  These  were  a  small  party  of  men 
whom  we  now  met  for  the  first  time,  though  we  knew  them 
well.  Shanghai  was  cook  for  the  mess,  and  kept  his  money 
in  a  buckskin  purse  in  the  "  grub-box "  of  his  company's  wag- 
on. This  box  was,  as  usual  with  emigrant-wagons,  carried 
in  the  rear  end  of  the  vehicle,  easily  accessible  from  without. 
It  had  a  close,  but  unlocked  lid  ;  and  the  men,  trudging  along 
behind,  could  take  a  bite  of  luncheon  as  they  marched.  Down 
among  the  humble  table  furniture,  bits  of  food,  small  stores, 
and  miscellaneous  dunnage,  poor  Shanghai  had  kept  his  little 
store  of  worldly  wealth. 

On  Saturday  night,  when  they  camped  with  the  rest, 
Shanghai's  gold  was  secure.  He  had  gone  to  it  for 
money  enough  to  buy  a  hand  of  tobacco  from  a  neighbor. 
In  the  morning,  when  he  took  out  his  breakfast  things,  it 
was  gone.  Andy  Snow,  one  of  the  Vermillion  County  Boys, 
had  seen  Old  Missourah,  the  night  before,  go  to  the  grub- 
box,  take  something  therefrom,  and  hide  it  in  his  shirt. 
Thinking  it  was  a  cake  of  bread,  good-natured  Andy  looked 
another  way  and  pretended  not  to  see  anything.  The  old 
man  was  known  to  be  miserably  poor.  But  when  the  money 


212  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

was  missed,  and  simple  Shanghai,  bereft  and  woebegone, 
made  great  lamentation  through  the  camps,  Andy  remem- 
bered and  told  what  he  had  witnessed.  Then  Blue  Pete, 
one  of  the  Sandy  Hill  Boys,  reinforced  the  evidence.  He 
swore,  with  a  great  many  large  oaths,  that  he  saw  Old  Mis- 
sourah  coming  away  from  Shanghai's  grub-box,  hiding  some- 
thing in  his  bosom  ;  he  said  he  was  cock-sure  it  was  a  bag, 
a  yellow  buckskin  bag. 

Blue  Pete  was  a  pretty  good  fellow  ;  he  had  a  low  fore- 
head, and  a  great  shock  of  blue-black  hair,  and  a  blue  welt 
or  scar  across  kis  cheek.  But,  for  all  that,  he  had  a  good, 
honest  face ;  we  always  liked  him.  His  evidence  was  con- 
clusive. But  for  the  sake  of  precedent  and  appearances,  the 
accused  should  have  fair  trial. 

No  trace  of  the  missing  purse  was  found.  The  principal 
prosecutor,  when  questioned  as  to  this  part  of  the  case, 
said  that  he  "  'lowed  that  Old  Missourah  had  got  shut  of 
that  thar  pouch  just  as  quick  as  he  found  thar  was  a-goin' 
to  be  a  row." 

My  heart  went  out  to  the  friendless  old  man.  But  then, 
everybody  was  sure  he  was  guilty,  circumstances  were  all 
against  him  ;  and  if  this  sort  of  thing  was  to  go  on,  whose 
property  was  safe  ?  Men  could  usually  take  care  of  their 
lives  ;  with  property  it  was  more  difficult.  Hangings  for 
murder  were  very  few  ;  those  for  theft,  particularly  horse-theft, 
were  numerous.  I  do  not  know  if  the  fact  that  murders 
were  more  common  than  robberies  has  any  connection  with 
this  statement.  But  it  was  the  fact.  And,  in  truth,  the  pre- 
vailing sentiment  of  the  time  was  that  Lynch-law  was  espe- 
cially designed  to  protect  personal  property. 


IN    ECHO   CANON.  213 

Usually  a  Lynch-court  on  the  road  was  a  very  informal 
affair.  There  was  no  time  to  spare  for  needless  ceremony  ; 
a  viva  voce  vote  on  the  question  "Guilty  or  not  Guilty"  was 
all  that  was  required  to  settle  the  case.  I  do  not  recollect 
that  the  oral  traditions  of  those  days  mention  an  instance 
of  an  accused  person  being  acquitted.  The  fatal  tree  was* 
selected  before  the  prisoner  was  brought  to  the  bar.  But 
in  this  case  there  was  leisure  enough  for  the  necessaries, 
if  not  for  the  luxuries,  of  a  formal  ceremonial.  Here  were 
more  than  twenty  men  willing  to  "  lay  over "  for  the  Sun- 
day, and  give  Old  Missourah  a  full  trial.  Indeed,  the  emi- 
grants entered  into  the  performances  with  a  calm  satisfaction 
which  came  of  a  consciousness  that  they  were  doing  "  the 
square  thing"  by  Old  Missourah,  and  providing  themselves 
with  a  dignified  diversion  for  the  day.  The  trial  and  execu- 
tion were  an  impromptu  drama,  which  most  of  the  performers 
enjoyed  very  much. 

Twelve  men  were  duly  chosen  as  the  jury  by  drawing 
twelve  previously  designated  cards  from  a  well-thumbed  pack. 
No  man  who  drew  anything  higher  than  a  ten-spot  was  com- 
petent to  serve ;  and  the  drawing  was  continued  until  the 
panel  was  complete.  This  formality  over,  the  jury  proceeded 
to  appoint  a  prosecuting  attorney  and  a  counsel  for  the  defend- 
ant. There  was  no  judge ;  the  jury  thenceforward,  in  a  some- 
what disputative  way,  taking  sole  direction  of  the  proceedings. 
The  public  prosecutor  was  Bill  Ballard,  a  stalwart  Arkan- 
sian,  whose  grammar  was  confused,  but  whose  heart  was 
thought  to  be  in  the  right  place.  He  had  proposed  blow- 
ing off  the  top  of  Old  Missourah's  head  early  in  the  de- 
bate. The  counsel  for  the  accused  was  Royal  Younkins,  a 


214  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

gentleman  from  Pike  County,  and  of  great  physical  beauty. 
Blond,  full-bearded,  blue-eyed,  and  standing  six  feet  in  his 
moccasons,  Younkins  was  likened  by  the  historical  painter  in 
our  party  to  young  Edward  of  York,  as  he  is  pictured  by 
the  chroniclers  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses.  A  Saxon  prince 
in  comeliness  and  bearing,  Royal  was  well  named.  I  regret 

«• 

to  add  here  that  he  was  subsequently  hung  in  Siskiyou 
County,  California,  for  several  murders.  He  confessed  five  of 
these  before  the  hangman's  noose  was  put  over  his  beautiful 
blond  head. 

There  is  not  much  to  say  about  the  trial.  The  jury  sat 
together  on  a  rocky  ledge  that  cropped  out  of  the  turf  in 
the  midst  of  the  camp.  The  prisoner,  with  an  odd  perver- 
sion of  judicial  etiquette,  was  put  in  charge  of  Bill  Ballard, 
the  prosecutor,  who  contended  that  this  "  was  the  fa'r  thing 
by  the  Vermillion  County  Boys,"  as  he  would  take  care  "that 
Old  Missourah  did  n't  break  for  tall  timber."  Ballard's  re- 
volver was  special  constable. 

The  witnesses  were  examined  ;  they  were  Shanghai,  Snow, 
and  Blue  Pete.  Shanghai  testified  as  to  the  fact  of  his 
money  being  in  the  grub-box  on  Saturday  evening ;  Snow 
told  how  he  saw  Old  Missourah  taking  something  therefrom  ; 
and  Blue  Pete  finished  the  chain  of  evidence  by  swearing 
that  he  saw  the  accused  take  from  the  box  something  that 
looked  like  a  buckskin  bag  and  hide  it  in  his  shirt-front.  It 
was  a  clear  case  ;  and  angry  murmurs  went  around  as  the 
shameful  story  was  related  once  more,  with  some  impercepti- 
ble additions.  Jake  Wise,  who,  by  virtue  of  having  his  wife 
and  mother  with  him,  had  the  right  to  be  spokesman  for  the 
jury,  said  sternly  to  the  old  man,  "  Guilty  or  not  Guilty  ? " 


IN   ECHO   CANON.  215 

Old  Missourah,  for  the  first  time  lifting  up  his  white  head, 
tremblingly  pleaded:  "  O,  pity,  kind  gentlemen!  I  haven't 
got  Shanghai's  money  ;  'deed,  I  have  n't.  I  Ve  two  boys  in 
Yuby  County,  Californy.  They  '11  be  master  sorry  to  hear 
of  this  ;  'deed,  they  will.  I  ain't  right  peart  myself  to-day. 
My  head 's  kind  of  unstiddy-like ;  I  'low  you  '11  put  in  a 
good  word  for  me.  I  was  born  in  Arkansaw,  I  was." 

This  somewhat  inconsequent  appeal  of  the  poor  old  man 
was  looked  upon  with  profound  disfavor  by  Royal  Younkins, 
to  whom  it  was  addressed.  Tlje  court,  that  is  to  say,  the 
jury,  ruled  that  the  prosecuting  attorney  had  "the  first  say." 

Ballard,  putting  his  special  constable  in  his  belt,  blushed 
with  confusion  and  made  his  brief  plea :  "  I  say,  boys,  this 
yere  old  man  's  been  and  stole  this  yere  money.  Shanghai 's 
told  yer  so  ;  Andy  Snow 's  told  yer  so  ;  and  Blue  Pete,  he 
seen  him  take  it.  So  what 's  the  use  o'  jawin'  any  more  ? 
As  fur  me,  I  want  to  git  shut  o'  this  bizness  and  git  up  and 
git."  The  prosecuting  attorney  sat  down  with  great  relief, 
and  one  impatient  juror  remarked,  "You  bet  yer." 

Here  the  foreman  of  the  jury,  who  was  filling  his  pipe, 
pointed  the  toe  of  his  big  boot  at  Royal  Younkins,  and  said, 
"  Unyoke  yer  jaw,  Younk,  .and  waltz  in." 

Thus  admonished,  our  Edward  of  York,  in  rude  but  forci- 
ble language,  begun  his  plea.  It  was  chiefly  personal  at  first. 
For  his  part,  he  "had  nothin'  agin  the  old  man."  He  had 
"  lost  nary  scad  sence  he  had  struck  the  plains."  This  amused 
the  jury ;  but  it  had  no  other  effect.  Presently,  however, 
with  a  natural  fondness  for  rhetorical  display,  he  assumed 
the  accused  to  be  innocent.  With  considerable  skill,  he  pic- 
tured "  the  boys  "  waiting  on  the  banks  of  the  Yuba  for  the 


216  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

old  man.  He  alluded  to  the  prisoner's  great  age,  his  white 
.hair,  and  the  unlikelihood  that  such  an  aged  man  could  be  a 
thief.  He  roughly  analyzed  the  evidence,  which  he  showed 
to  be  purely  circumstantial.  He  was  proceeding  to  work  on 
the  sympathies  of  his  audience,  when  one  of  the  jury,  begin- 
ning to  weaken,  bawled,  "  O,  dry  up,  dry  up  !  You  Ve  played 
that." 

Royal's  face  flushed  in  a  moment,  and,  whipping  out  his 
revolver,  he  said  angrily,  "  You  dry  up,  or  I  '11  — " 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence,  for  he  saw  the  impropriety 
of  his  remark  ;  and  the  jury  had  scattered  in  all  directions 
when  they  saw  his  pistol  come  to  light.  He  turned  away 
with  a  cunning  smile,  remarking  to  me  as  he  passed,  "  I  'm 
dog-oned  if  I  hev  n't  a  mind  to  believe  the  old  man 's  inno- 
cent, after  all."  Young  Edward  of  York  had  almost  convinced 
himself  for  the  moment. 

The  jury  retired  to  an  alder  thicket  with  a  small  black 
bottle  of  whiskey.  They  returned  when  it  was  empty,  with  a 
verdict  of,  "  Guilty  of  stealing  in  the  first  degree." 

Jake  Wise  announced  the  finding  of  the  court,  and  added 
that  the  prisoner  should  be  hanged  forthwith.  Some  of  us 
who  had  conscientious  objections  to  this  summary  trial  and 
execution  made  every  possible  effort  for  the  old  man's  release. 
It  was  offered  to  pay  Shanghai  twice  the  amount  of  money 
he  had  lost,  if  Old  Missourah  might  be  let  go  in  peace. 
Poor  Shanghai  showed  signs  of  relenting  at  the  prospect  of 
recovering  something ;  but  the  crowd  was  determined  on  a 
stern  vindication  of  justice.  They  firmly  believed  Old  Mis- 
sourah guilty ;  they  would  accept  no  atonement  or  reparation 
short  of  his  life. 


IN    ECHO    CANON.  217 

The  rude  procession  was  formed ;  it  was  a  pitiful  and  sick- 
ening spectacle.  The  miserable  condemned  man  was  set  on 
his  little  steed,  his  feet  tied  under  the  animal's  belly,  his 
hands  pinioned  behind  him,  and  his  face  turned  to  the  tail 
of  the  beast,  —  an  additional  mark  of  contumely  usually  be- 
stowed in  such  cases. 

Bill  Ballard  walked  by  the  side  of  the  old  man  to  steady 
him  as  the  group  struggled  up  the  ridge  where  grew  a  tall  syca- 
more, —  the  fatal  tree.  At  the  mouth  of  the  canon,  the  rocky 
walls  break  off  abruptly,  and,  on  the  right,  the  sloping  divide 
leans  up  against  a  mass  of  richly  colored  rock  resembling 
some  grand  old  cathedral.  This  towered  far  above  our  heads, 
and,  westward,  the  eye  glanced  over  the  lovely  valley  of  the 
winding  Weber  now  spread  out  like  a  map  below .  us. 

There  was  little  said.  The  men  were  determined  and  very 
bitterly  in  earnest.  The  old  man  would  not  say  whether  he 
was  guilty  or  not.  He  seemed  sunk  in  utter  abstraction.  Once 
only  he  lifted  his  head.  As  the  little  procession  mounted  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  Old  Missourah  straightened  himself  up  and 
looked  off  over  the  panorama  below.  The  sunny  vale,  belted 
with  trees  and  laced  with  glittering  streams,  wound  afar 
into  the  distant  hills  ;  and  around  the  western  horizon  there 
were  purple  peaks  fretted  with  silvery  snow.  It  was  the  poor 
wretch's  last  gaze  at  a  beautiful  world.  His  pale  blue  eyes 
gazed  far  over  the  horizon,  westward,  where  his  boys  were 
digging  on  the  banks  of  the  Yuba.  His  white  hair  blew 
about  his  face  as  the  rude  west-wind  met  him  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  hill,  and  he  stood  under  the  gallows-tree.  Even  this 
mute  sycamore  seemed  to  pity  him.  It  bent  down  its  long 
branches  as  if  in  voiceless  compassion  for  his  infinite  woe ;  and 


218  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

the  clustered  leaves  stirred  in  the  breeze  with  a  low  and  sooth- 
ing death-song. 

But  there  was  no  softness  in  the  scene  for  the  stern  men  who 
stood  about.  The  simple  preparations  were  made.  I  turned 
away,  and  saw  only  the  group  of  jury,  counsel,  and  witnesses 
pulling  at  the  long  rope  that  ran  from  the  neck  of  the  con- 
demned man  over  a  stout  limb  above.  This  joint  action  at  the 
rope  was  a  formal  assumption  of  joint  responsibility  for  the 
hanging.  No  one  man  could  be  called  to  account.  Blue  Pete 
led  the  file  of  executioners,  and,  as  he  pulled  with  the  rest,  he 
chanted  in  a  strange,  sad  monotone,  "  Hail,  Columby,  Hail, 
Columby,  Hail,  Columby  ! "  This  rude  song  was  all  the  cere- 
monial. Old  Missourah  was  hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  was 
dead. 

That  night,  at  sundown,  our  shovel  was  returned  to  us.  Old 
Missourah  was  buried.  His  little  cart  was  left  by  the  trail ;  its 
poor  contents  were  divided  among  the  Vermillion  County  Boys, 
each  of  whom  thereafter  threw  his  share  into  the  river  ;  the 
small  mule  was  confiscated  to  the  benefit  of  Shanghai.  This 
ill-fated  animal  was  afterwards  stolen  by  the  Mormons  near 
Box  Elder  ;  and  so  all  trace  of  Old  Missourah  disappeared 
from  the  emigrant  road  across  the  continent. 

We  reached  Salt  Lake  City  a  few  days  after  this  occurrence, 
and  in  that  strange  capital  of  the  wilderness  refitted  while  we 
rested  and  wrote  letters  home.  Passing  once  more  westward,  on 
the  fifth  day  out  of  the  Mormon  hive,  we  crossed  the  Malad,  a 
deep  and  narrow  stream  on  the  edge  of  the  Valley.  Camping 
for  the  night  on  the  farther  bank,  we  met  a  fever-and-ague-rid- 
den  Missourian,  who,  with  his  wife  and  numberless  small  chil- 
dren, was  bound  to  Oregon.  A  sad-faced,  dejected  pair  were 


IN    ECHO    CANON.  219 

husband  and  wife  ;  but  their  white-headed  babies,  lively  as 
crickets,  swarmed  in  and  out  of  their  wagon  as  if  they  were 
contented  with  their  travelling  home  and  had  never  known  any 
other.  Perhaps  they  had  not.  The  canvas  cover  of  their  four- 
wheeled  mansion  bore,  in  rude  black  letters,  this  lament :  — 

"O  Missouri,  O  Missouri,  I  much  regret  to  see 
You  so  much  altered  for  the  worse 
From  what  you  used  to  be. 
Time  was  when  all  the  people  were 
All  happy  and  content. 
But  now  they  are  so  very  poor, 
Scarce  one  has  got  a  cent." 

The  self-satisfied  author  of  these  lines  informed  us  that  we 
should  see  a  sorrowful  sight  in  the  canon  through  which  the 
road  wound  after  leaving  the  Malad.  He  had  been  down  to  see. 
The  Vermillion  County  Boys  had  hanged  a  man  there  last  Fri- 
day night. 

"  What !  another  man  ?  They  hanged  one  in  Echo,  about 
two  weeks  ago  ! " 

"  Yaas,  so  they  did.  He  was  the  wrong  man,  though.  I  'low 
they  hung  the  right  one  this  time." 

"  But  who  was  he  ?  " 

"  Don't  know.  The  Sandy  Hill  Boys  found  the  stole  money 
on  him  ;  and  they  waited  till  the  Vermillions  came  up,  and 
they  strung  him  up  to  oncet." 

"  And  is  he  still  hanging  ?  " 

"  Sure  pop.  Seen  him  myself.  They  would  n't  plant  him, 
cause  he  was  an  uncommon  hard  case." 

No  questioning  could  bring  out  of  the  languid  Missourian  any 
further  information ;  so,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  to  satisfy 


220 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 


ourselves  who  "  the  right  one "  might  be,  two  of  us  mounted 
and  rode  into  the  gorge. 

A  tall,  dead  tree,  writhing  its  leafless  branches  against  the 
twilight  sky,  bore  this  evil  fruit.  The  form  of  the  convicted 
thief  twirled  solemnly  in  the  wind  that  sighed  down  the  canon. 
It  was  Blue  Pete,  the  man  who  had  sung  "  Hail,  Columby," 
at  Old  Missourah's  execution.  Next  day,  we  buried  him  with 
the  shovel  he  borrowed  of  us  in  Echo  Canon. 


A  FRAGMENTARY  HINT. 


A  FRAGMENTARY  HINT  ON  A  FAULT 
OF  THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE. 


tiU 
7] 
sr 
\  v 


BY    CHAMPION    BISSELL. 

O  write  a  page  of  Saxon  like  this,  is  an  easy  thing, 
but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  make  it  bear  your  thoughts 
to  the  man  who  reads  it.  This  page  is  a  sore  trial, 
for  when  I  try  to  talk  only  in  Saxon,  I  try  thereby 
y,--  to  talk  in  another  tongue  than  my  real  mother- 
tongue,  if  indeed  we  Western-World  sons  of  Eng- 
lishmen can  be  said  to  have  a  mother-tongue.  Once  we  had 
the  good  roots  of  a  great  tongue,  but,  just  at  a  time  when 
men  in  England  began  to  think  and  to  call  for  a  way  to 
make  their  thoughts  known,  a  body  of  men,  called  wfte, 
reached  out  to  a  dead  tongue  for  help,  instead  of  reaching 
down  into  the  deep  rich  ground  among  the  roots  of  their 
own  mother-tongue.  Then  was  built  up  the  now  English 
speech,  made  up  of  a  few  short,  strong  words,  and  a  great 
many  longer  words,  lifted  out  of  the  dead  speech  of  the 
race  whom  the  Goths  overthrew.  Thus  it  comes  that  our 
speech  is  large  but  not  rich  ;  like  a  great  farm  with  a  shal- 
low soil,  on  which  you  may  work  hard  and  reap  small  crops, 
though  to  the  eye  alone  it  is  fair  and  wide-spreading,  and 
makes  its  owner  seem  like  a  rich  man,  when  he  is  not. 
See  how  short  and  stunted  are  the  words  with  which  I 


224  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

hedge  myself  in  when  I  try  to  write  all  Saxon,  and  only 
Saxon.  These  Goths  were  children  indeed,  with  deep  enough 
thoughts,  but  scant  breath  to  utter  them.  But  what  a  pity 
that  the  men  who  made  our  tongue  did  not  think  it  worth 
while  to  plough  their  own  ground,  but  must  needs  go  and 
borrow  from  the  burying-places  of  dead  people. 

Our  speech  now  is  like  Frankenstein's  man,  built  up  of 
bones  and  dead  things,  and  gifted  with  a  kind  of  weird  life, 
by  which  it  walks  over  us  and  crushes  us,  while  we  cannot 
hope  to  make  it  bend  to  us.  Had  we  grown  our  speech 
from  its  own  roots,  as  a  gardener  grows  a  shrub,  it  would 
have  been  a  sweet  and  kindly  thing,  fit  for  use  always,  and 
would  keep  on  growing  forever,  and  in  whatever  shape  we 
might  wish  to  bend  it.  Now  instead  of  this,  we  have  Frank- 
enstein's made-up  man. 

How  hard  it  is  with  such  a  tongue  to  make  other  people 
see  things  as  we  do !  When  I  talk  to  my  neighbor  with  my 
best  words,  I  do  not  always  bring  his  soul  alongside  of  my 
own,  so  that  our  souls'  eyes  look  out  on  the  field  of  thought 
from  the  same  window.  It  is  apt  to  be  quite  the  other  way, 
so  that  we  look  crosswise,  and  he  says  "  Yes  "  to  what  I  say, 
or  I  say  "  Yes  "  to  what  he  says,  out  of  sheer  good-will  only. 

Can  we  help  this?  I  fear  not.  We  are  wedded  to  our 
tongue,  and  have  lived  together  so  long,  we  would  find  it 
hard  to  change  each  other.  So  we  must  do  the  best  we 
can  with  what  we  have. 

The  above  effort  to  express  ideas  rising  above  one's  wants 
for  daily  food  wholly  in  words  underived  from  Latin  and 
Greek,  shows  clearly  the  poverty  of  our  nw/-language,  and  the 


A    FRAGMENTARY    HINT.  225 

immense  dependence  under  which  we  have  brought  ourselves 
to  the  Latin  element  introduced  into  the  English  language. 

While  we  borrowed  so  much  Latin,  it  was  a  fatal  mistake 
that  we  did  not  borrow  the  case-declination  of  that  noble 
language.  By  this  omission  alone,  we  robbed  our  tongue  for- 
ever of  the  possibility  of  growth  from  within.  Accessions  to 
it  must  always  be  mere  accretions  from  without.  We  can 
build  on,  and  build  on,  but  whatever  we  build  on  the  pres- 
ent structure  is  inorganic  and  lifeless,  and  has  the  further 
fault  that  it  hides  and  covers  up  something  else. 

Thus,  we  ruined  the  prospects  and  possibilities  of  the 
growth  of  our  language  from  its  own  root,  and  we  nailed 
on  dead  twigs  from  another  full-grown  tree,  instead  of  graft- 
ing on  the  live  scions,  which  perhaps  might  have  been  found, 
by  careful  search,  somewhere  among  the  hoary  and  storm- 
beaten  branches  of  the  old  Latin  tree. 

I  envy  with  inexpressible  longing  those  who  spoke  Greek, 
and  those  who  spoke  Latin,  and  those  who  now  speak  Ger- 
man. The  French  language  is  good  enough  to  write  con- 
tracts in ;  and  Italian  and  Spanish  are  good  enough  to  ex- 
press the  day-dreams  of  indolent  races  ;  but  no  language 
other  than  a  self-growing  and  a  case-declination  language 
can  ever  serve  -as  a  fit  and  full  channel  for  the  highest  hu- 
man thoughts. 

One  instance.  Take  the  German  word  "  Wahlverwandt- 
schaft."  It  is  a  long  word,  yet  Goethe  made  it  the  title  of 
a  novel  designed  for  the  public.  Any  German  can  see  the 
growth  of  the  word  ;  how  "  Wahl "  naturally  grows  on  "Ver- 
wandtschaft,"  and  how  "  schaft "  grows  on  "verwandt,"  and 
how  "verwandt"  grows  out  of  "Gewand,"  and  "Gewand" 


226  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

out  of  "winden."*  The  whole  word  is  a  blaze  of  light  to  him, 
and  if  it  were  twice  as  long,  it  would  be  twice  as  luminous. 
The  nearest  we  can  get  to  the  word  in  anything  like  elegant 
English  is  "  Elective  Affinities,"  and,  so  titled,  the  translated 
work  stands  in  our  libraries.  And  yet  it  requires  a  very 
well-educated  person  to  comprehend  the  phrase  "  Elective 
Affinities/'  and  it  is  a  chance  if  any  two  readers  affix  the 
same  meaning  to  it.  These  two  words  are  simply  two 
dead  Latin  words  nailed  on  to  the  trunk  of  the  English 
language,  and  have  to  be  studied  from  without,  just  as  fos- 
sils have  to  be  picked  up,  or  picked  off,  and  studied  from 
without. 

Conscious  of  no  remedy  for  this  sad  condition  of  the  lan- 
guage of  a  great  people,  I  commend  it  to  the  attention  of 
the  members  of  our  literary  and  progressive  club. 

*  "  Winden  "  means  to  wind  or  twist :  in  early  times  the  Germans  wound  their 
garments  about  their  bodies,  in  default  of  pins  and  buttons ;  the  imperfect  tense 
of  "  winden  "  is  "  wand  "  :  hence  comes  "  Gewand,"  a  drapery,  or  a  garment, 
something  wound  about.  As  a  family  would  naturally  be  clothed  in  garments  of 
the  same  stuff,  the  family  relation  was  indicated  by  the  word  "verwandt"  Our 
verb  has  now  produced  us  a  very  rich  noun,  which,  when  united  with  two  other 
nouns,  as  we  see  it,  becomes  a  word  of  great  depth  and  beauty ;  obvious  to  the 
comprehension  of  the  uneducated  German,  and  full  of  suggestive  meaning  to  the 
scholar. 

In  going  outside  of  the  Latin  or  Greek  languages  to  find  a  synonyme  for 
"  Wahlverwandtschaft,"  I  have  not  been  able  to  light  upon  anything  better  than 
the  very  ugly  word  "  Friendship-choosing."  This  would  certainly  carry  a  clearer 
idea  to  the  mind  of  a  teamster  than  the  phrase  "  elective  affinities,"  but  it  is  awk- 
ward and  barren  of  meaning.  If  we  could  use  the  word  "sympathy  "  or  its  adjec- 
tive, we  would  do  better,  but  that  lands  us  in  Greek,  which  is  contrary  to  the 
problem.  In  this  case,  as  in  thousands  of  others,  the  educated  mind  retreats  into 
the  cloisters  and  catacombs  of  the  dead  languages,  to  find  means  for  the  contem- 
plation of  an  active  and  living  idea.  What  a  commentary  upon  the  incredible  mis- 
fortune that  befell  our  language  at  its  critical  period  ! 

C.  B. 


LIBERTY. 


LIBERTY. 

BY   JOHN   HAY. 

HAT  man  is  there  so  bold  that  he  should  say, 
"Thus  and  thus  only  would  I  have  the  sea"? 
For  whether  lying  calm  and  beautiful, 
Clasping  the  earth  in  love,  and  throwing  back 
The  smile  of  heaven  from  waves  of  amethyst ; 

Or  whether,  freshened  by  the  busy  winds, 

It  bears  the  trade  and  navies  of  the  world 

To  ends  of  use  or  stern  activity  ; 

Or  whether,  lashed  by  tempests,  it  gives  way 

To  elemental  fury,  howls  and  roars 

At  all  its  rocky  barriers,  in  wild  lust  • 

Of  ruin  drinks  the  blood  of  living  things, 

And  strews  its  wrecks  o'er  leagues  of  desolate  shore ;  — 

Always  it  is  the  sea,  and  all  bow  down 

Before  its  vast  and  varied  majesty. 

So  all  in  vain  will  timorous  men  essay 
To  set  the  metes  and  bounds  of  Liberty. 
For  Freedom  is  its  own  eternal  law. 
It  makes  its  own  conditions,  and  in  storm 
Or  calm  alike  fulfils  the  unerring  Will. 
Let  us  not  then  despise  it  when  it  lies 


230  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Still  as  a  sleeping  lion,  while  a  swarm 

Of  gnat-like  evils  hover  round  its  head  ; 

Nor  doubt  it  when  in  mad,  disjointed  times 

It  shakes  the  torch  of  terror,  and  its  cry 

Shrills  o'er  the  quaking  earth,  and  in  the  flame 

Of  riot  and  war  we  see  its  awful  form 

Rise  by  the  scaffold,  where  the  crimson  axe 

Rings  down  its  grooves  the  knell  of  shuddering  kings. 

For  always  in  thine  eyes,  O  Liberty ! 

Shines  that  high  light  whereby  the  world  is  saved  ; 

And  though  thou  slay  us,  we  will  trust  in  thee ! 


How  WE  HUNG  JOHN  BROWN. 


HOW  WE  HUNG  JOHN  BROWN. 

BY    HENRY    S.    OLCOTT. 

ET  will  be  conceded  that  the  first  act  in  the  bloody 
drama  of  the  American  Conflict  had  its  climax  on  the 
2d  of  December,  1859,  when  John  Brown  of  Ossawato- 
mie  was  hung  at  Charlestown,  Virginia.  Thirty  years 
of  agitation  of  the  question  of  African  slavery  culmi- 
nated in  that  direful  event,  which  was  at  once  the  prelude  to 
one  of  the  most  terrible  wars  of  modern  times,  and  the  har- 
binger of  a  new  era  of  equal  rights  and  true  republican 
government.  Looking  back  now  over  the  intervening  fourteen 
years,  it  seems  incredible  that  so  much  should  have  happened 
in  so  short  a  time.  The  rapid  rush  of  events,  the  upheaval 
of  our  whole  national  system,  the  changed  relations  between 
the  two  sections  of  country,  and  especially  between  the  black 
and  white  races,  make  the  tragical  end  of  John  Brown  ap- 
pear as  something  that  occurred  at  least  a  generation  ago  ; 
and  the  true  story  of  his  hanging,  by  an  eye-witness,  will 
perhaps  be  read  with  as  much  interest  as  any  other  thing  I 
could  contribute  to  the  present  volume.  It  is  time  the  story 
was  told  ;  for  with  negro  ex-slaves  sitting  on  the  bench,  in 
the  gubernatorial  chair,  in  legislatures,  in  Congress,  serving 
as  State  treasurers,  as  cadets,  as  surgeons,  as  consuls,  and  as 
foreign  ambassadors,  it  reads  like  fiction  that  the  life  of  an 


234  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

editor  should  have  been  put  in  peril  so  recently,  within  the 
limits  of  this  country,  in  the  peaceful  performance  of  his 
duty.  And  I  am  sure  that  if  these  lines  should  be  read  by 
any  of  the  men  whom  I  met  at  the  exciting  time  of  which  I 
write,  he  will  confess  to  mortification  that  such  should  have 
been  the  fact. 

In  1859  I  was  one  of  the  two  agricultural  editors  of  the 
New  York  Tribune,  having  as  little  to  do  with  politics  as  any 
man  in  the  city,  and  perhaps  as  unlikely  as  any  to  see 
or  care  to  see  the  execution,  the  preparations  for  which  agi- 
tated the  whole  American  people.  Although  connected  with 
the  leading  Abolitionist  journal,  I  was  scarcely  an  Abolitionist, 
but  rather  what  might  be  called  a  congenital  Whig.  That 
is  to  say,  I  came  of  a  Whig  ancestry,  and,  caring  far  less 
for  politics  than  scientific  agriculture,  I  was  content  to  let 
others  fight  their  full  of  the  slavery  question,  while  I  attended 
to  the  specialty  whose  development  was  my  chief  care. 

But  events  at  last  happened  which  aroused  all  my  interest 
in  the  topic  of  the  hour.  The  people  of  Virginia,  led  away 
by  a  blind  fanaticism,  and  by  blind  fanatics  like  Wise,  de- 
clared war  upon  the  New  York  Tribune  as  the  representative 
of  the  principles  John  Brown  held  most  dear.  One  after  an- 
other, three  gentlemen  were  driven  out  of  Charlestown  and 
Harper's  Ferry  on  suspicion  that  they  were  the  correspond- 
ents who  supplied  that  journal  with  its  vivid  accounts  of  the 
local  occurrences  ;  and  when,  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  letters 
still  continued  to  appear,  they  gave  out  that  they  would 
hang  the  mysterious  unknown  to  the  nearest  tree,  on  sight. 
Then  the  liberty  of  the  press  was  for  the  first  time  practically 
destroyed  in  this  country,  and  mob  rule  asserted  itself.  Our 


HOW    WE    HUNG    JOHN    BROWN.  235 

correspondent,  who  had  sent  his  letters,  under  the  guise  of 
money-packages,  by  express,  at  last  found  things  so  hot  that 
he  was  forced  to  leave  the  neighborhood  of  Charlestown,  and 
from  Baltimore  send  such  reports  as  he  could  gather  upon 
the  arrival  of  the  train. 

The  fatal  2d  of  December  was  now  fast  approaching,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  paper  would  be  forced  to  let  the  day  pass 
without  having  a  correspondent  on  the  ground,  to  tell  John 
Brown's  friends  how  he  met  his  doom.  Distressed  to  see  the 
perplexity  of  my  dear  friend  Horace  Greeley,  I  went  to  the 
managing  editor,  and  volunteered  to  undertake  the  job  if  he 
would  allow  me  to  do  it  in  my  own  way.  With  some  re- 
monstrance about  the  risks  I  would  run,  he  at  last  consented, 
and  gave  me  carte  blanche  to  go  and  come  and  do  as  I 
chose. 

Things  were  decidedly  lively  at  Charlestown  just  then.  Wise 
had  poured  cavalry  and  infantry  into  the  place  until  it  was  a 
very  camp ;  sentries  were  posted  in  the  streets,  to  stop  every 
one  at  will ;  a  provost-guard  boarded  every  train,  a  sum  of 
money  was  privately  offered  for  the  Tribune  man,  the  medical 
students  had  hung  up  the  preserved  skeleton  of  John  Brown's 
son  in  a  museum,  and  the  people  were  on  the  qui  vive  for  shad- 
owy legions  of  rescuers,  expected  from  over  the  mountains.  I 
had  n't  the  remotest  wish  to  figure  in  the  Book  of  Martyrs,  nor 
the  slightest  disposition  to  have  my  tanned  hide  tacked  to  the 
door  of  the  jail,  and  so  it  was  with  me  a  problem  of  the  most 
serious  nature  how  to  get  to  the  place,  how  to  move  about 
while  there,  and  how  to  get  away  with  a  whole  skin.  After 
considering  many  expedients,  I  finally  concluded  to  go  to 
Petersburg,  and  make  that  my  base  of  operations.  So,  taking 


236  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

passage  by  steamer,  I  found  myself,  late  one  night,  safely  landed 
in  the  house  of  a  dear  old  friend  in  that  ancient  city.  He 
was  a  fire-eater  of  fire-eaters,  an  uncompromising,  rank,  out- 
and-out  Secessionist,  in  whose  mind  Divine  right  and  State 
rights  were  convertible  terms,  and  who,  as  I  soon  found,  hated 
John  Brown  with  the  perfect  hatred  that  the  Devil  is  said  to 
bear  to  holy  water.  Tired  and  sleepy  as  I  was,  he  would  not 
let  me  go  to  bed  until  he  had  cursed  the  hoary  old  Abolitionist 
from  crown  to  sole,  heaping  a  separate  and  distinct  malediction 
upon  each  particular  hair  of  his  head  and  each  drop  of  blood 
in  his  veins.  He  talked  so  fast  and  swore  so  hard  as  to  leave 
him  little  time  before  daylight  to  ascertain  my  own  sentiments, 
although,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  was  quite  ready  to  express 
my  honest  conviction  that  John  Brown's  raid  was  an  inexcus- 
able invasion  of  a  sovereign  State.  I  was  Whig  enough  then 
to  be  quite  willing  to  have  Virginia  hang  him  if  she  chose, 
and  those  at  the  North  who  thought  otherwise  were  in  a  de- 
cided minority.  See  how  we  trimmed  and  shuffled  and  paltered 
with  the  South,  until  the  first  cannon-ball  smashed  against 
the  walls  of  Sumter,  and  so  smashed  through  our  dough- 
faceism  upon  the  patriot  adamant  beneath! 

At  this  night  session  with  my  fire-eating  friend,  I  learned 
that  some  recruits  for  the  company  of  Petersburg  Grays,  then 
doing  duty  at  Charlestown,  were  to  go  forward  the  next  day, 
and,  expressing  my  desire  to  assist  at  the  hanging  of  the  great 
agitator,  I  received  permission  to  join  the  party.  Behold, 
then,  the  agricultural  editor  of  the  Tribune  transformed  into 
a  Virginia  militia-man,  his  editorial  plowshare,  so  to  speak, 
turned  into  a  sword,  and  his  pruning-hook  into  a  spear. 
And  just  here,  for  fear  of  being  misunderstood,  let  me  say 


HOW    WE    HUNG    JOHN    BROWN.  237 

» 

that  in  joining  the  Virginia  soldiers  I  meant  to  do  my  duty, 
to  fight  if  there  should  be  occasion  to  fight,  and  not  turn  my 
back  upon  my  new  comrades.  I  can't  say  that  I  thought 
there  would  be  any  opportunity  for  us  to  display  our  valor, 
for,  in  common  with  all  New  York,  I  discredited  the  absurd 
idea  that  any  organized  body  of  Pennsylvanians  would  attempt 
John  Brown's  rescue.  Nevertheless,  I  took  service  in  good 
faith,  and  all  the  chances  with  it.  This  matter  being  satisfac- 
torily settled,  my  friend  at  last  showed  me  to  my  room,  and 
I  slept  the  sleep  of  the  weary. 

At  the  appointed  time  our  party  of  recruits  met  at  the 
railway  station,  and  I  was  put  in  charge  of  the  chief  surgeon 
on  General  Taliaferro's  Staff  as  a  true-blue  Northerner.  I 
found  him  to  be  a  brother  Mason,  and  our  trip  was  made 
most  agreeable  by  the  close  friendship  that  sprang  up  be- 
tween us.  As  we  reached  the  last  station  before  coming  to 
Charlestown,  our  train  was  boarded  by  the  provost-guard,  and 
every  passenger  subjected  to  a  rigid  examination.  My  friends 
of  the  Grays  vouching  for  me,  I  was  enabled  to  pass  muster, 
and  the  place  of  our  destination  finally  came  in  sight. 

Looking  out  of  the  car-window,  I  saw  something  that  was 
the  reverse  of  assuring  to  one  in  my  situation,  —  a  crowd  of 
a  thousand  or  more  unsavory,  lounging  Virginians,  every  man 
of  them  with  his  two  hands  stuffed  in  his  pockets,  and  his 
two  eyes  fixed  upon  the  train,  as  if  it  were  some  nondescript 
monster  about  to  vomit  an  enemy.  Next  to  the  track  stood 
a  provost's  party,  wearing  uniform  caps  and  other  insignia 
of  brief  authority.  The  captain  ordered  us  to  form  a.  line 
outside  the  cars,  and  front  face.  The  doctor  and  I,  being 
the  only  ones  of  the  passengers  dressed  in  citizen's  clothes, 


238  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

r 

naturally  attracted  a  greater  share  of  the  public  attention 
than  was  at  all  gratifying,  to  myself  at  least,  —  being  natu- 
rally of  a  modest  and  retiring  disposition.  However,  there  I 
was,  and  there  were  the  fifteen  hundred,  and,  as  I  could  n't 
get  away,  I  put  as  good  a  face  on  it  as  possible,  and  returned 
stare  for  stare.  It  was  n't  long  before  my  equanimity  was 
cruelly  disturbed,  for  who  should  come  poking  through  the 
throng  but  my  old  Washington  acquaintance,  Colonel  Blank, 
the  great  sheep-breeder,  —  an  impulsive,  good-natured,  amiable 
fire-eater,  one  of  your  sort  who  clap  you  on  the  back,  and 
shout  out  your  name,  and  wonder  what  the  deuce  you  are 
doing  there.  The  mild  face  of  my  bucolic  friend  seemed  for 
the  moment  to  threaten  like  that  of  Nemesis,  the  cold  sweat 
started  on  my  forehead,  and  in  about  a  second  I  counted 
my  chances  of  being  pointed  out  as  Mr.  Wurzel  of  the  New 
York  Tribune,  and  thereupon  gently  stretched  at  the  end  of 
an  inch  rope,  from  the  swaying  bough  of  a  neighboring  tree, 
that  caught  my  eye  at  the  moment !  My  fate  came  nearer 
and  yet  more  near,  and  my  brain  went  faster  and  faster,  until, 
just  as  the  old  fellow  got  within  easy  eyeshot  of  me,  I 
formed  and  executed  a  ruse.  I  was  suddenly  attacked  with 
strabismus  of  the  most  pronounced  type,  my  mouth  got  a 
shift  to  leeward,  and  a  general  expression  of  vacancy  settled 
over  my  usually  vivacious  countenance.  The  transformation 
probably  was  not  as  artistic  or  wonderful  as  any  one  of  those 
with  which  Garrick  amused  his  friends  in  the  hack,  but  it 
served  a  good  purpose,  for  the  terrible  man  passed  on  down 
the  line,  and  I  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  Then  we  right-faced 
and  forward-marched,  and  filed  this  way  and  that,  and 
finally  came  to  our  quarters.  It  was  a  one-story  little  build- 


HOW    WE    HUNG    JOHN    BROWN.  239 

ing,  used  as  a  law  office,  comprising  one  small  cramped  room, 
where  perhaps  a  half-dozen  fellows  might  manage  to  bunk  on 
the  floor,  by  each  man  swallowing  his  neighbor's  feet ;  but 
as  to  giving  our  party  of  twenty  or  thirty  the  least  chance 
to  do  more  than  stand  up  and  sleep,  like  Dickens's  fat  boy,  it 
was  out  of  the  question.  The  dear  old  doctor,  however, 
being  of  the  General  Staff  (and  by  this  time  my  sworn  brother 
and  companion-in-arms),  concluded  to  forage  about  for  better 
quarters  and  take  me  with  him  ;  so  we  went  to  Taliaferro's 
headquarters,  at  the  principal  hotel.  I  let  him  enter  alone, 
as  I  had  no  disposition  to  intrude  upon  the  general's  privacy, 
nor  seek  an  introduction,  and  I  stopped  outside  until  my  ally 
should  come  with  our  billet.  There  was  a  porch  to  the  hotel, 
and  men  sitting  there  talking ;  and  as  my  eye  ran  over  the 
group,  I  experienced  a  second  shock,  even  worse  than  the 
first ;  for  there,  in  his  bodily  presence,  long  gray  hair  and  all, 
sat  Edmund  Ruffin,  with  whom  I  had  only  a  short  time  be- 
fore passed  some  weeks  on  the  lordly  plantation  of  one  of  the 
most  violent  of  the  South  Carolina  senators.  It  is  needless 
to  say  who  and  what  Mr.  Ruffin  was,  —  the  old  man  who 
offered  to  hang  John  Brown  with  his  own  hands,  who  after- 
wards fired  the  first  cannon-shot  at  the  walls  of  Fort  Sumter, 
and  who  was  by  all  odds  the  bitterest  hater  we  Northern 
men  had  in  Dixie. 

I  thought  my  time  had  come  then,  sure  enough,  for  I  knew 
that  this  man  had  had  as  much  as,  if  not  more  than,  Wise 
himself,  to  do  with  exciting  the  fears  and  passions  of  the 
people  of  their  native  State.  He  was  another  of  your  impul- 
sive sort,  strong  in  his  likes  as  in  his  hates,  and,  friendly  as  he 
was  to  me  beyond  doubt,  on  account  of  our  mutual  interest  in 


240  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Agriculture,  he  would  n't  have  listened  a  moment  now  to  any- 
thing I  might  have  said  by  way  of  explanation,  but  have  in- 
sured my  destruction  by  announcing  my  professional  affiliation. 
I  got  out  of  this  scrape  easily  enough  by  simply  turning  my 
back  and  walking  leisurely  off;  although  the  image  of  that 
stern,  implacable  face  followed  me  all  the  while  I  was  in  that 
village. 

Our  billet  was  far  better  than  I  could  have  anticipated, 
no  less,  in  fact,  than  in  the  house  of  one  of  the  principal  func- 
tionaries of  the  court,  and  with  the  whole  Staff  of  the  com- 

• 

manding  general.  While  my  comrades  of  the  Grays  fared 
wretchedly,  the  doctor  and  I  had  a  comfortable  room  to  our- 
selves, a  wide  French  bedstead  to  sleep  in,  bountiful  meals 
to  eat,  and,  luxury  of  luxuries !  a  full-blooded  blackie  to  pol- 
ish our  shoes. 

I  found  the  fellows  of  the  Staff  a  jolly,  good-natured  lot, 
fond  of  smoking,  honest  whiskey-drinkers,  courteous  towards 
the  ladies  of  the  household,  and  very  cordially  disposed  to- 
wards the  New  York  gentleman  who  had  come  down  there 
to  help  hang  John  Brown.  I  scarcely  think  it  would  have 
made  much  difference  in  our  relations  if  they  had  known  the 
terrible  secret  that  I  was  going  to  write  a  plain  unvarnished 
account  of  the  execution,  for  I  made  no  bones  about  ex- 
pressing my  surprise,  and  something  stronger,  at  the  farcically 
great  preparations  they  had  made  to  hang  one  poor  wounded 
old  man. 

You  may  believe  that  all  the  old  stock  of  merry  tales, 
stowed  away  in  odd  corners  of  my  head,  were  brought  out  of 
the  lavender  of  memory,  and  refurbished  and  passed  around  ; 
and  that  I  sang  my  comic  songs  (always  with  one  eye  on  the 


HOW    WE    HUNG    JOHN    BROWN.  241 

company  and  the  other  on  the  door)  and  smoked  pipes  and 
drank  whiskey  with  the  best  of  them  ;  and  was  generally 
voted  a  capital  sort  of  felldw,  and  —  learned  a  good  bit 
about  John  Brown,  you  may  be  sure.  Yes,  I  got  all  the 
wonderful  sayings .  and  doings,  the  comings-in  and  goings- 
out  of  this  terrible  Ossawatomie  Brown,  who,  as  Mr.  Gid- 
dings  expressed  it,  "with  a  force  of  fifteen  men,  had  taken 
Virginia  with  his  right  hand,  and  Maryland  with  his  left,  and 
shaken  them,  till  every  corner  of  the  Union  resounded  with 
their  shriekings ! ".  And  all  this  time,  the  mysterious  Tribune 
man  vexed  the  peace  of  the  whole  South ;  and  the  Charles- 
tqwn  papers  indignantly  repudiated  the  idea  that  any  such 
person  was  in  the  place ;  and  Colonel  Taylor,  the  puffy 
militia-man,  notified  Frank  Leslie's  artist  that  he  was  sus- 
'  pected  and  must  clear  out ;  and  General  Taliaferro  proclaimed 
that  all  strangers  should  report  themselves  to  the  provost  for 
examination  ;  and  the  papers  of  the  Gulf  States  were  calling 
upon  the  Virginians  to  clean  out  the  reptile!  The  fact  is, 
that  my  predecessor  had  so  faithfully  chronicled  the  events 
at  Charlestown,  had  so  set  the  sensible  people  of  the  whole 
country  to  laughing  at  the  cowardly  behavior  of  the  villagers, 
and  had  so  pertinaciously  stuck  to  his  post,  concealed  his 
identity,  and  rubbed  vitriol  into  the  wounds  his  keen  lance 
inflicted,  that  the  community  were  wellnigh  distracted.  I 
recollect  how,  the  night  before  the  execution,  I  opened  up 
this  matter  to  my  generous  host,  and  with  charming  nalvett 
asked  him  to  tell  me  candidly  how  this  Tribune  man  con- 
tinued to  elude  the  vigilance  of  the  people!  He  drew  his 
chair  up  to  mine,  and,  leaning  over,  whispered  confidentially, 
"  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  is.  You  see  our  local  papers  publish 


242  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

accounts  of  what  is  transpiring  here,  and  somebody  connected 
with  the  Tribune  gets  hold  of  these  papers  in  New  York  City, 
and  then  writes  a  letter  at  the  Tribune  office  and  dates  it 
from  Charlestown.  Of  course  I  need  n't  tell  you  that,  in 
their  present  state  of  excitement,  our  people  would  be  more 
than  likely  to  hang  such  a  person  to  the  nearest  tree.  You 
know  some  hot-headed  fellows  have  even  offered  a  reward  for 
him."  I  laughed  with  all  my  heart,  slapped  my  host  on  the 
knee,  and  protested  that  that  was  a  Yankee  trick  I  had  n't 
thought  of. 

But  I  must  not  forget  my  wretched  trunk,  for,  as  Mrs. 
Gamp  says,  "  It  giv  me  sich  a  turn  ! "  On  the  morning  after  my 
arrival,  something  was  said  about  the  lot  of  trunks  and  things 
they  had  down  at  the  provost-marshal's  office,  and  it  flashed 
across  my  mind  that,  in  the  excitement  of  my  encounter  with 
that  bloodthirsty  old  sheep-breeder  at  the  railway  station,  I 
had  quite  forgotten  my  luggage,  and  that  it  had  undoubtedly 
gone  to  the  provost's  with  other  unclaimed  or  suspicious  prop- 
erty. It  was  marked  with  my  initials,  and  the  words  "  New 
York"  ;  and  in  the  temper  in  which  the  Charlestown  people 
then  found  themselves,  this  was  enough  to  place  its  owner  in 
no  little  personal  jeopardy.  It  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps 
at  that  moment  they  were  searching,  or  even,  to  use  a  Southern 
expression,  "  gunning,"  after  the  person  in  question.  I  did  n't 
know  what  to  do  ;•  it  was  a  real  dilemma.  I  got  away  by 
myself  and  cudgelled  my  brains  for  an  hour  to  no  purpose. 
To  be  able  to  get  it  away  myself  without  imminent  danger 
of  discovery  and  the  defeat  of  my  mission,  was  a  sheer  im- 
possibility, and  it  was  equally  dangerous  to  leave  it  unclaimed ; 
for  as  it  came  up  with  the  Grays'  reinforcements,  its  owner 


HOW    WE    HUNG    JOHN    BROWN.  243 

would  be  certainly  hunted  up.  I  considered  it  a  matter  of 
life  and  death,  and  so  I  determined  to  try  what  my  Masonry 
would  do.  I  picked  out  a  fine,  brave  young  fellow  of  the 
Staff,  a  perfect  gentleman,  and,  under  the  seal  of  Masonic 
confidence,  told  him  who  I  was,  and  directed  him  to  go  to 
the  Court  House,  and  claim  and  bring  away  the  trunk.  He 
did  it,  and  I  was  safe. 

But  for  the  terrible  strain  on  my  nerves  that  my  situa- 
tion involved,  and  the  melancholy  business  that  was  going 
on  about  us,  I  should  recall  the  days  I  passed  under  the 
hospitable  roof  of  our  host,  in  the  companionship  of  so  rare  a 
lot  of  good  fellows,  as  among  the  pleasantest  of  my  life.  I 
was  particularly  charmed  with  Mr.  Colyer,  a  white-haired  law- 
yer, whose  name  has  since  figured  prominently  as  that  of  a 
Rebel  Congressman  and  an  officer  of  the  Rebel  army,  and 
the  dear  old  doctor,  my  bedfellow,  whom  I  have  never  set 
eyes  on  since,  much  to  my  regret  ;  and  when  all  was  over, 
and  the  brave-souled  Brown's  spinal  cord  was  broken,  and  we 
were  all  ready  to  turn  homeward,  and  my  fellow-guests  re- 
fused to  let  me  subscribe  towards  a  service  of  silver  for  our 
hostess,  merely  because  I  was  a  Northern  man,  —  albeit,  as 
they  were  so  kind  as  to  say,  a  deuced  good  fellow,  —  I  felt 
really  hurt,  and  sorry  enough  to  part  with  them.  What  made 
me  feel  worse  than  all  was  to  go  through  the  town,  arm  in 
arm  with  some  of  my  new  friends,  cheek  by  jowl  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  think  how  shameful,  how  pitiful  and  cow- 
ardly it  was  that,  in  this  "land  of  the  free  and  home  of 
the  brave,"  I  was  walking  those  streets  with  the  specter  of 
Death  stalking  lock-step  behind  me,  never  leaving  me  day  or 
night,  because  I  dared  to  write  an  honest  letter  to  a  great 


244  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

newspaper,   and   tell   how   a  brave,    if  perhaps   fanatical,   man 
behaved  and  talked. 

The  morning  of  that  memorable  2d  of  December  dawned 
at  last,  and  the  first  gray  streak  saw  us  stirring.  Wise  had 
seized  the  Winchester  and  Potomac  Railroad  on  the  2Qth 
November  for  military  purposes,  and  issued  his  proclamation 
to  the  people  of  the  State.  He  cautioned  them  to  remain 
"at  home  and  on  guard  or  patrol  duty  on  the  2d  of  Decem- 
ber, and  to  abstain  from  going  to  Charlestown.  Orders,"  said 
he,  "are  issued  to  prevent  women  and  children,  and  strangers 
are  hereby  cautioned  that  there  will  be  danger  to  them  in 
approaching  that  place,  or  near  it,  on  that  day.  If  deemed 
necessary,  martial  law  will  be  proclaimed  and  enforced." 
These  are  his  very  words,  and  I  submit  if  they  don't  show 
how  badly  scared  the  great  State  of  Virginia  was !  The  field 
of  execution  — a  plot  of  about  forty  acres,  half  in  sod  and 
half  corn-stubble  —  was  directly  opposite  our  house,  and  the 
gallows  stood  on  a  rising  ground  not  one  hundred  yards  away 
from  the  porch.  A  military  force  of  between  two  and  three 
thousand  troops  —  artillery,  cavalry,  and  infantry  —  had  been 
concentrated  at  the  place  ;  the  whole  country  for  fifteen  miles 
around  was  guarded  by  mounted  and  foot  soldiers ;  all  inter- 
course between  town  and  country  was  stopped.  A  field-piece 
loaded  with  grape  and  canister  had  been  planted  directly  in 
front  of  and  aimed  at  the  scaffold,  so  as  to  blow  poor  Brown's 
body  into  smithereens  in  the  event  of  attempted  rescue ;  other 
cannon  commanded  the  approaches  to  the  modern  Aceldema; 
and  all  Virginia  held  breath,  until  the  noontide  should  come 
and  go.  The  most  stringent  precautions  had  even  been  taken 
to  prevent  the  townspeople  from  approaching  the  outermost 


HOW    WE    HUNG    JOHN    BROWN.  245 

line  of  patrolling  sentries,  for  the  authorities  were  determined 
to  choke  their  prize  malefactor,  without  giving  him  a  chance 
to  make  any  seditious  speeches. 

The  December  sun  had  risen  clear  and  bright,  but  soon 
passed  into  a  bank  of  haze,  and  I  was  afraid  we  should  have 
a  stormy  day  of  it.  By  nine  o'clock,  however,  as  beautiful  an 
azure  sky  hung  over  us  as  man  ever  saw,  and,  winter  as  it 
was,  the  sun  became  so  hot,  that  doors  and  windows  were 
flung  wide  open.  The  ground  had  been  staked  the  day  be- 
fore, and  fluttering  white  pennons  all  around  the  lot  marked 
the  posts  of  the  sentries,  who  came  on  the  scene  at  the  hour 
above  named.  Then  a  strong  force  of  volunteer  cavalry,  wear- 
ing red  flannel  shirts  and  black  caps  and  trousers,  rode  up 
and  were  posted,  fifty  paces  apart,  around  the  entire  field ; 
and  then  the  guns  and  caissons  of  the  artillery  rumbled  up  ; 
then  more  cavalry  and  infantry  came ;  and  then  a  solemn 
hush  settled  over  the  awful  scene,  and  no  sound  was  heard 
but  the  twittering  of  some  birds,  the  sigh  of  the  south-wind 
among  the  tree-branches,  and  the  occasional  impatient  stamp  of 
a  horse's  hoof  on  the  greensward.  All  eyes  were  turned  to  the 
jail,  a  scant  half-mile  away  down  the  road  ;  but  nothing  could  be 
seen  but  the  glint  of  bayonets,  and  gilt  buttons  and  straps,  in  the 
bright  sunshine,  until,  of  a  sudden,  the  mass  opened  right  and 
left,  and  a  wagon,  drawn  by  two  white  horses,  came  into  view. 
In  it,  seated  on  a  long  box  of  fresh-cut  deal,  was  an  old  man, 
of  erect  figure,  clad  in  a  black  suit,  with  a  black  slouch  hat  on 
his  head,  and  blood-red  worsted  slippers  on  his  feet.  The 
melancholy  cortege  formed  and  advanced  towards  us.  There 
was  the  one  helpless  old  man,  suffering  from  five  saber  and 
bayonet  wounds,  going  to  his  death  under  escort  of:  — 


246  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

MAJOR  LORING'S  "  BATTALION  OF  DEFENSIBLES. 

CAPTAIN    WILLIAMS'S    "  MONTPELIER    GUARD." 

CAPTAIN  SCOTT'S  "PETERSBURG  GRAYS." 

CAPTAIN  MILLER'S  "  VIRGINIA  VOLUNTEERS." 

CAPTAIN  RADY'S  "  YOUNG  GUARD." 


Now,  is  n't  that  pitiful  ?  Is  n't  it  enough  to  make  a  stone 
image  blush,  to  think  of  all  this  great  army,  with  its  flying 
flags,  and  its  brass  guns,  and  its  videttes  and  patrols  all  the 
way  up  to  the  foot  of  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains,  haling  one 
wounded  Kansas  farmer  to  execution  ?  I  could  n't  help  think- 
ing of  all  this,  as  the  head  of  the  column  filed  into  the  field, 
between  the  loaded  howitzers,  and  I  looked  upon  the  majestic 
face  of  the  Man  of  Destiny.  For  an  instant  our  eyes  met. 
Whether  he  read  anything  in  mine  of  the  thoughts  that 
crowded  my  mind  I  cannot  say,  but  an  expression  of  intense 
inquiry  came  into  his,  and  he  gave  me  a  glance  I  shall  never 
forget.  As  his  wagon  turned  in  from  the  dusty  road,  and  the 
whole  array  of  military  was  presented  to  his  view,  the  old  man 
straightened  himself  up  on  his  coffin,  and  proudly  surveyed 
the  scene.  He  looked  to  me  more  like  Caesar  passing  in  his 
triumphal  chariot  through  the  streets  of  Rome,  than  like  Jack 
Sheppard  going  to  Tyburn  Hill.  He  bore  the  searching  gaze 
of  the  soldiery  with  a  kingliness  of  manner,  as  if  he  were 
receiving  homage  that  was  his  due,  and  did  not  cower  under 
it,  as  if  he  were  a  malefactor  about  to  be  punished  for  some 
crime  he  had  committed.  He  fully  appreciated  the  effect  of 
all  this  display  of  military  upon  public  opinion,  for  you  will 
recollect  he  said  one  day  in  prison,  "  I  am  not  sure  but  the 


HOW    WE    HUNG    JOHN    BROWN.  247 

object  I  have  in  view  will  be  better  served  by  my  dying 
than  by  my  living  ;  I  must  think  of  that." 

The  cortege  passed  through  the  triple  squares  of  troops, 
and  over  the  hillock  ;  and  wound  around  the  scaffold  to  the 
easterly  side,  and  halted.  The  body-guard  —  our  company 
of  Grays  —  opened  ranks,  and  John  Brown  descended,  with 
self-possession  and  dignity,  and  mounted  the  gallows-steps. 
He  looked  about  at  earth  and  sky  and  people,  and  remarked 
to  Captain  Avis,  his  jailer,  upon  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  It 
was  beautiful  indeed.  The  sun  shone  with  great  splendor, 
and  the  gleaming  guns  and  sparkling  uniforms  were  strongly 
relieved  against  the  somber  tints  of  sod  and  woods.  Away 
off  to  the  east  and  south,  the  splendid  mass  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
loomed  against  the  sky,  and  shut  in  the  horizon.  Over  the 
woods  towards  the  northeast,  long,  thin  stripes  of  clouds  had 
gradually  accumulated,  foreboding  the  storm  that  came  in 
due  time  that  evening ;  while,  looking  towards  the  south, 
there  lay  an  undulating,  fertile  country,  stretching  away  to 
the  distant  mountains.  Brown's  eye  lingered  wistfully  upon 
the  few  civilians  who  had  been  permitted  to  gaze  from  a  dis- 
tance upon  the  tragedy,  as  if,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  he  longed 
for  a  glimpse  of  one  friendly  face  ;  then,  with  another  glance 
at  the  sky  and  the  far-away  Blue  Ridge,  he  turned  to  the 
sheriff,  and  signified  that  he  was  ready.  His  slouch  hat  was 
removed,  his  elbows  and  ankles  pinioned,  and  a  white  hood 
was  drawn  over  his  head.  The  world  was  gone  from  his 

sight  forever,  and   he   and    Eternity  were   face   to  face 

One  would  have  thought  that,  after  all  their  indecent  haste 
to  get  him  tried,  convicted,  sentenced,  and  hung,  they  would 
have  despatched  the  poor  old  man  as  quickly  after  that  as 


248  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

possible ;  but  not  a  bit  of  it.  There  was  still  the  shadow  of 
a  possibility  that  some  Cadmus-sown  soldiers  might  spring 
out  of  the  dull  sod  of  that  field,  and  stampede  the  prize,  so 
there  must  be  movements  of  troops  hither  and  thither,  march- 
ings and  countermarchings  ;  and  I  stood  there,  watch  in  hand, 
for  eight  minutes,  that  seemed  centuries,  before  Colonel  Scott, 
losing  patience,  gave  the  signal.  Then  Sheriff  Campbell  cut 
the  rope,  the  trap  fell,  with  a  wailing  screech  of  its  hinges, 
and  John  Brown's  body  hung  twirling  in  the  air.  You  could 
have  heard  the  sigh  of  satisfaction  that  passed  over  the  whole 
armed  host,  so  dead  was  the  stillness  that  brooded  over  it. 
There  was  but  one  spasmodic  clutch  of  the  tied  hands,  and 
a  few  jerks  and  quivers  of  the  limbs,  and  then  all  was  still. 
....  After  the  thing  had  dangled  in  mid-air  for  twenty 
minutes,  the  Charlestown  surgeons  went  up  and  lifted  the 
arms  and  dropped  them  like  lead,  and  placed  their  ears  to 
the  dead  thing's  chest,  and  felt  the  wrists  for  a  pulse.  Then 
the  military  surgeons  had  their  turn  of  it ;  and  then,  after  a 
consultation,  they  stepped  back,  and  left  the  body  to  dangle 
and  swing  by  its  neck  eighteen  minutes  more  ;  while  it  turned 
to  this  side  or  that,  swinging,  pendulum-like,  from  the  force 
of  the  rising  wind.  At  last  the  lion  was  declared  dead,  and 
the  body,  limp  and  horrid,  with  an  inch-deep  groove  cut 
into  its  neck  by  the  Kentucky  hemp  halter,  sent  as  a  special 
donation  for  the  occasion,  was  lowered  down,  and  slumped 
into  a  heap.  It  was  then  put  into  a  black-walnut  coffin,  lifted 
into  the  wagon  again,  the  body-guard  closed  in  about  it,  the 
cavalry  took  the  right  of  the  column,  and  the  mournful  pro- 
cession moved  off.  Then,  if  you  could  have  heard  some  of 
the  brutal  remarks  that  I  did,  you  would  have  blushed  for 


HOW    WE    HUNG    JOHN    BROWN.  249 

your  kind.  Some  said  that  his  head  ought  to  be  cut  off  and 
preserved  in  the  Winchester  Medical  College,  along  with  the 
dissected  body  of  his  son  ;  some,  that  instead  of  a  fall  of 
eighteen  inches,  they  ought  to  have  had  the  body  fall  ten 
feet,  so  as  to  snap  his  head  off;  and  others,  that  after  he  was 
hung,  they  ought  to  stuff  a  dose  of  arsenic  into  the  corpse's 
mouth,  so  as  to  effectually  prevent  his  Abolition  friends  from 
resuscitating  him.  But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  there  were 
some  gentlemen,  and  among  others,  a  captain  on  Taliaferro's 
Staff,  who  expressed  their  admiration  for  Brown's  splendid 
pluck.  The  latter  person  sat  next  me  at  table  that  night,  and 
when  I  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  the  affair,  he  turned 
a  sparkling  eye  upon  me  and  said,  "  By  God,  sir,  he 's  the 
-bravest  man  that  ever  lived!" 


THE  WEED  THAT  CHEERS. 


THE  WEED  THAT   CHEERS. 

BY   J.    HENRY    HAGER. 

41  NICOTIA,  dearer  to  the  Muse 
Than  all  the  grapes'  bewildering  juice, 
We  worship,  unforbid  of  thee  ; 
And,  as  her  incense  floats  and  curls 
In  airy  spires  and  wayward  whirls, 
Or  poises  on  its  tremulous  stalk 
A  flower  of  frailest  revery, 
So  winds  and  loiters,  idly  free, 
The  current  of  unguided  talk, 
Now  laughter-rippled,  and  now  caught 
In  smooth,  dark  pools  of  deeper  thought. 
Meanwhile  thou  mellowest  every  word, 
A  sweetly  unobtrusive  third ; 
For  thou  hast  magic  beyond  wine 
To  unlock  natures  each  to  each  ; 
The  unspoken  thought  thou  canst  divine  ; 
Thou  fillest  the  pauses  of  the  speech 
With  whispers  that  to  dream-land  reach, 
And  frozen  fancy-springs  unchain 
In  Arctic  outskirts  of  the  brain ; 
Sun  of  all  inmost  confidences  ! 
To  thy  rays  doth  the  heart  unclose 
Its  formal  calyx  of  pretences, 
That  close  against  rude  day's  offences, 
And  open  its  shy  midnight  rose." 

AS    it   ever   occurred    to  the   reader   that  "the    long 
result  of  Time"   has   failed  to  displace  Tobacco  as 
a  narcotic  in  the  popular   esteem  ?      That    in    spite 
of  the  " Counterblaste "  of  the  "Defender  of  the  Faith";  the 


254  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

rage  of  Amurath  IV.,  of  Turkey ;  the  edicts  of  the  Emperor 
Jehan-Ghir ;  the  excommunications  of  Popes  Urban  VIII.  and 
Innocent  XI.,  and  the  repressive  measures  of  other  poten- 
tates, who  have  assailed  the  liberties  of  mankind  in  forbidding 
the  use  of  Tobacco,  —  that  much-reviled  herb  has  invaded 
every  civilized  and  many  barbarous  countries,  and  stands  to- 
day victor  over  all  adversaries  ! 

Surely  when  its  opponents  remember  how  bitterly  its  intro- 
duction into  Europe  was  fought,  step  by  step,  —  how  in  Tur- 
key smoking  was  punished  by  thrusting  the  pipe  through  the 
nose ;  how  in  Russia  the  unlucky  wight  caught  using  snuff 
was  kept  t perpetually  in  mind  of  the  heinousness  of  his  crime 
by  the  summary  amputation  of  the  offending  member ;  how  in 
the  Swiss  Canton  of  Berne  the  use  of  tobacco  in  any  form 
was  ranked  in  the  table  of  misdemeanors  next  to  adultery, 
and  that  even  so  late  as  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  an 
especial  court  "for  trying  delinquents  was  held ;  how,  that 
armed  with  scourges,  halters,  and  knives,  and  with  gibbets 
painted  on  their  banners,  the  Anti-tobaccoites  of  those  days 
denounced  death  to  all  found  inhaling  the  fumes  of  the  plant 
through  a  tube,  or  detected  with  a  pellet  of  it  under  their 
tongues,  —  it  must  be  confessed  that  during  the  nearly  four 
hundred  years  that  have  elapsed  since  the  two  sailors  sent 
by  Columbus  to  explore  the  island  of  Cuba  first  discovered 
the  (to  them)  novel  method  of  self-fumigation,  the  use  of  the 
Indian  herb  has  extended  with  a  rapidity  and  inhered  among 
the  customs  of  civilization  with  a  tenacity  that  all  must 
acknowledge  to  be  remarkable. 

In  truth,  the  despised  plant  is  in  greater  favor  at  the  close 
of  this  good  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy- 


THE    WEED    THAT    CHEERS.  255 

four  than  it  has  ever  been.  In  Great  Britain,  the  increasing 
consumption  has  compelled  the  manufacturers  to  have  partial 
recourse  to  the  inferior  varieties  of  Tobacco  grown  in  China 
and  Japan,  since  the  better  qualities  raised  here  are  so  much 
in  demand  on  this  side  the  Atlantic  as  to  largely  prohibit 
their  exportation.  And  this,  while  every  year  witnesses  the 
extension  of  the  tobacco-producing  anea  in  these  United  States 
into  sections  where,  until  recently,  its  culture  was  unknown. 

In  view  of  these  undeniable  facts,  we  put  it  to  the  ingenu- 
ous Anti-tobaccoite  to  say  whether  the  crusade  against  the 
weed  has  been  a  success  ? 

If  candid,  he  must  admit  its  utter  and  universal  failure. 

The  sincere  contemners  of  Tobacco,  from  King  James  down- 
ward, have  not  lacked  eloquence,  learning,  scientific  attain- 
ments, nor  a  specious  show  of  sound  logic  and  pure  morality. 

Had  their  arguments  not  been  based  on  a  fallacy,  could 
they  have  failed  ? 

Against  all  the  preachments  of  the  last  four  hundred  years, 
the  irresistible  logic  of  facts  and  the  universal  practice  of 
mankind  may  very  properly  be  left  to  make  answer. 

To  the.  attacks  based  on  the  various  physical  and  moral 
grounds  that  have  been  assumed,  we  are  content  to  respond, 
on  the  part  of  those  who  believe  in  the  use  of  the  weed  in 
moderation,  that  the  movement  against  it  has  not  taken  any 
deep  root  in  popular  sympathy,  nor  been  indorsed  by  the 
common-sense  of  the  masses.  It  is  quite  true  that  many  are 
found  who  avoid  the  use  of  Tobacco  in  any  form  from  per- 
sonal and  physical  reasons,  but  they  are  satisfied  with  being 
"  a  law  unto  themselves,"  and  rarely  seek  to  make  converts  to 
their  peculiar  practices,  or  join  the  ranks  of  the  aggressive 


256  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

opponents  of  the  weed.  In  fact,  the  latter  have  rarely  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  more  than  exciting  the  general  and  deserved 
derision  of  mankind. 

When  we  call  to  mind  the  reform  movements  against  the 
different  abuses  of  the  day,  and  the  earnestness  and  intelli- 
gence with  which  many  of  them  are  carried  forward,  this 
absence  of  hearty  sympathy  on  the  part  of  the  people,  and 
the  want  of  practicality  that  inevitably  characterizes  the 
schemes  of  the  Anti-tobaccoites,  furnish  food  for  thought,  and 
lead  irresistibly  to  certain  conclusions. 

We  find  that  the  reasoning  powers  of  the  masses  teach 
them  that  of  the  charges  made  by  the  opponents  of  the 
weed,  those  not  absolutely  false  could  be  brought  with  equal 
force  against  the  use  of  certain  other  so-called  luxuries.  When 
gentlemen  who  assume  to  speak  in  the  name  of  Science, 
assure  us  of  the  deadly  qualities  of  the  pipe,  we  may  very 
appropriately  ask,  how  it  happens  that  mankind,  after  smok- 
ing over  three  hundred  years*,  manage  to  attain  to  so  tolerable 
a  degree  of  health  ? 

And  in  this  connection,  an  interesting  subject  of.  inquiry 
for  our  scientific  friends  would  be,  the  hygienic  condition  of 
the  native  Cubans  when  Columbus  surprised  them  engaged  in 
the  deleterious  practice  of  smoking?  Or,  still  more  feasible, 
the  general  health  of  Europe  before  and  after  the  introduction 
of  Tobacco. 

Unless  the  savans  can  approach  the  inquiry  satisfactorily 
from  this  standpoint,  and  demonstrate  beyond  cavil  how  some 
particular  nation  has  steadily  receded  in  the  scale  of  moral 
and  physical  well-being  in  consequence  of  the  use  of  the 
weed,  their  theories,  based  on  one-sided  experiments  and  scien- 


THE    WEED    THAT    CHEERS.  257 

tific  half-truths,  will  continue  to  be  as   powerless  to  convince 
in  the  future  as  they  have  been  in  the  past. 

Any  hypothesis  based  on  the  experience  of  individuals,  or 
observations  of  exceptional  cases,  are,  for  the  purposes  intended, 
simply  worthless.  It  must  be  shown,  not  that  Tobacco  has 
proved  injurious  under  certain  conditions  of  the  human  organ- 
ism, but  that  the  human  organism,  during  a  series  of  years, 
and  in  the  case  of  entire  communities,  has  sensibly  and  de- 
cidedly deteriorated! 

This  proved  beyond  a  doubt,  the  savans  might  justly 
claim  the  victory  ;  that  they  may  be  led  to  enter  upon  the 
inquiry,  we  challenge  them  to  the  demonstration. 

The  difficulty  is,  that  the  An ti-tobaccoites,  considering  the 
actual  facts  established  by  them,  go  too  far. 

Universal  condemnation  never  convinces,  especially  when 
contradicted  by  every-day  experience. 

Besides,  our  Tobacco  reformers  are  the  most  inconsistent 
of  men.  While  protesting  against  the  abused  plant,  they 
quietly  allow  the  object  of  their  anathemas  to  pay  a  large 
proportion  of  their  taxes  and  thus  contribute  to  their  in- 
come. 

Perhaps  it  has  never  occurred  to  the  Rev.  Trask  and  his 
confreres  that  Tobacco,  imported  and  domestic,  pays  nearly 
forty  millions  of  dollars  annually  towards  the  support  of  "the 
best  government  on  which  the  sun  ever  shone  "  ;  while,  across 
the  water,  the  British  Constitution  is  preserved  intact  by  a 
yearly  contribution  of  over  thirty-five  millions  on  the  part  of 
the  (involuntarily)  patriotic  chewers  and  smokers  of  that  be- 
nighted and  expensive  isle. 


258  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Yet  how  much  of  these  eighty  millions  would  our  Anti- 
tobacco  friends  be  willing  to  assume,  in  case  it  were  possible 
to  make  the  use  of  the  weed  in  both  countries  a  criminal 
offence,  and  thus  to  drop  it  from  the  list  of  sources  of  national 
income  ? 

"  We  pause  for  a  reply  ! " 

But  is  it  consistent  for  these  earnest  gentlemen  to  live 
without  protest  under  the  protection  of  institutions  that  may 
be  said  tp  be  in  part  reared  on  the  ashes  of  a  much-reviled 
herb  ? 

If  the  use  of  Tobacco  is  morally  wrong,  —  and  we  never  met 
an  Anti-tobaccoite  who  claimed  less,  —  it  is  certainly  wrong  to 
participate,  however  indirectly,  in  the  profits  accruing  from 
traffic  in  the  "  accursed  thing  ! " 

Can  the  honest  Anti-tobaccoite,  either  in  England  or 
America,  truthfully  assert  that  he  is  not  sinning  against  his 
conscience  in  this  respect  ? 

Nor,  indeed,  is  his  co-believer  on  the  Continent  in  much 
better  case. 

In  Austria,  France,  Italy,  Spain,  —  nay,  even  in  Turkey, — 
the  weed  is  deemed  so  precious  a  commodity  that  its  sale  is 
regulated  and  the  profits  largely  shared  by  the  government ; 
while  in  Russia,  Germany,  Holland,  and  Belgium  an  import 
duty  is  imposed  on  all  packages  of  Tobacco  entering  those 
countries,  so  that  the  resident  Anti-tobaccoite  is  equally, 
though  indirectly,  interested  in  the  gains  arising  from  the 
commerce  in  the  article  he  so  greatly  detests. 

The  alternative  thus  presented  to  the  opponent  of  the  weed 
is  either  a  change  of  country  or  of  creed. 


THE  WEED  THAT  CHEERS.          259 

And  may  we  not  sooner  or  later  look  for  the  latter  con- 
summation ? 

Will  there  remain  any  so  beclouded  as  to  their  mental  vision 
—  we  speak  with  all  reverence  —  when  the  millennial  sun 
dawns  upon  a  regenerated  world  ? 

Cannot  we  reasonably  look  forward  to  that  promised  season 
of  fruition,  as  to  a  period  when  the  voice  of  the  Anti-tobaccoite 
shall  no  longer  be  heard  in  the  land  ? 

Surely  in  the  full  blaze  of  Truth,  those  reformers  who  see 
partially  and  draw  exceedingly  lame  and  impotent  conclusions 
from  premises  very  much  awry,  cannot  remain  unconvinced  ! 

Our  belief  in  "  the  eternal  fitness  of  things "  forbids  any 
different  conclusion. 

Let  us,  then,  in  the  mystic  brotherhood  of  the  Lotos,  continue 
to  keep  the  pipe  undimmed.  Let  its  steadfast  light  illume  the 
shadows,  and  kindle  anew  the  fires  on  the  altar  of  friendship. 

In  our  especial  realm  where  "  it  is  ever  afternoon,"  we  may 
smoke  the  calumet  even  with  the  repentant  Anti-tobaccoite, 
whose  hoped-for  conversion  might  possibly  be  succeeded  by 
his  elevation  in  the  social  and  moral  scale  until  he  became 
"  one  of  us ! " 

Meantime  we  commend  to  him  the  following  quaint  lines 
by  a  writer  of  the  last  century  as  suited  to  his  present  stage 
of  development,  and  as  proof  that,  despite  his  prejudices,  the 
soundest  morality  may  be  fairly  derived  even  from  a  pipeful 
of  Tobacco :  — 

"  Come,  lovely  tube,  by  Friendship  blest, 

Beloved  and  honored  by  the  wise  : 
Come  filled  with  honest  'Weekly's  best,' 
And  kindled  from  the  lofty  skies. 


260  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

"  While  round  me  clouds  of  incense  roll, 

With  guiltless  joys  you  charm  the  sense, 
And  nobler  pleasure  to  the  soul, 
In  hints  of  moral  truth  dispense. 

"Soon  as  you  feel  th'  enlivening  ray, 

To  dust  you  hasten  to  return  ; 

And  teach  me  that  my  earliest  day 

Began  to  give  me  to  the  urn. 

"  But  though  thy  grosser  substance  sink 

To  dust,  thy  purer  part  aspires; 
This  when  I  see  I  joy  to  think 
That  earth  but  half  of  me  requires. 

"  Like  thee,  myself  am  born  to  die, 

Made  half  to  rise  and  half  to  fall ; 
O  could  I,  while  my  moments  fly, 
The  bliss  you  give  me,  give  to  all ! " 


THE  ASPERITIES  OF  TRAVEL. 


THE  ASPERITIES  OF  TRAVEL. 

BY    COLONEL    THOMAS   W.   KNOX. 

T  has  been  said,  many  times,  that  travel  wears  off  the 
rough  edges  of  an  individual  and  gives  him  a  polish  that 
he  cannot  obtain  in  any  other  way.  He  acquires  a 
knowledge  of  men  and  their  manners  and  customs  more 
thoroughly  than  when  remaining  in  one  place,  and  he 
learns  to  regard  with  a  tolerant  eye  the  social,  moral, 
political,  and  religious  beliefs  at  variance  with  his  own.  He 
accepts  the  correctness  of  the  maxim  that  all  men  are  brothers, 
and  that  their  thoughts,  impulses,  and  passions  are  not  altogether 
unlike  in  the  main,  though  differing  in  detail.  He  finds  that 
enmity  and  friendship,  love  and  hatred,  honesty  and  depravity, 
hope  and  fear,  joy  and  sorrow,  are  the  same  among  all  nations 
and  tribes  of  the  human  race,  from  the  Equator  to  the  Poles  and 
from  the  Poles  back  again  to  the  Equator.  Born  under  the  flag 
of  the  United  States,  and  cherishing  an  undying  affection  for  a 
republican  form  of  government,  he  learns  to  respect  a  monarchy 
for  whatever  good  qualities  it  possesses  ;  and,  born  and  reared 
within  the  limits  of  a  despotism,  and*  taught  to  regard  it  as  of 
divine  origin,  he  learns  by  travel  and  observation  to  look  upon 
the  republic  as  not  unblessed  with  advantages  of  its  own. 
Broader  views  of  humanity  and  a  respect  for  the  opinions  of 
others  are  generally  the  result  of  travel,  provided,  always,  the 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 

traveller  is  capable  of  mental  enlargement,  and  enters  upon  his 
journeys  with  a  willingness  to  be  instructed.  Some  men  there 
are  who  might  visit  all  the  ground  ever  trodden  by  Livingstone, 
Kane,  Ledyard,  and  Marco  Polo,  and  return  to  their  homes  more 
narrow  and  bigoted,  if  possible,  than  ever  before.  But  such 
as  these  are  exceptions  that  only  prove  the  correctness  of 
the  rule. 

Most  men  are  taught  through  adversity,  rather  than  through 
good  fortune,  and  do  not  sympathize  with  suffering  until  they 
themselves  have  suffered.  And  the  traveller  who  has  a  hard 
time  of  it  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  benefited  by  his  wanderings 
as  the  man  whose  path  is  strewn  with  roses  and  whose  jour- 
neys are  a  succession  of  unvarying  delights.  The  skilful 
artist  makes  the  light  in  his  picture  effective  by  reason  of  its 
contrast  with  the  shadows.  Light  and  darkness  are  relative, 
and,  strictly  speaking,  there  cannot  be  the  one  without  the 
other.  Velvet  feels  softer  than  otherwise  when  contrasted 
with  haircloth  or  India  matting ;  and  an  individual  who  has 
been  clad  in  a  suit  of  tar  and  feathers,  and  treated  to  a  ride 
upon  a  fence-rail,  finds  a  blanket  covering  and  a  seat  in  an 
ox-cart  a  luxurious  contrast  to  the  clothing  and  locomotion 
of  indignity.  Serene  happiness  follows  the  withdrawal  of  the 
pain  of  an  aching  tooth  ;  and  plain  soda-water,  ordinarily  unat- 
tractive, is  welcome  as  the  nectar  which  Jupiter  sips  when 
brought  to  one's  bedside  the  morning  after  a  late  supper  on 
champagne  and  broiled  quail.  Pleasure  and  discomfort,  joy 
and  sorrow,  happiness  and  misery,  are  things  of  contrast,  and 
none  of  us  can  ever  know  one  of  these  feelings  to  its  fullest 
extent  without  some  acquaintance  with  its  opposite.  If  all 
travel  were  in  palace-cars  and  luxurious  steamers,  and  every 


THE    ASPERITIES    OF    TRAVEL.  265 

traveller  halted  only  in  hotels  which  contain  all  the  comforts 
of  this  or  any  other  age,  one  would  be  little  better  off  than 
if  he  remained  at  home.  But  happily  we  must  make  acquaint- 
ance with  many  kinds  of  vehicles  and  caravansaries,  and  sub- 
mit to  a  thousand  discomforts  and  vexations,  if  we  would  emu- 
late the  example  of  Rosin  the  Bow,  who  narrates,  in  his 
autobiographical  poem,  that  he  had  travelled  this  wide  world 
all  over.  Like  Queen  Dido,  we  are  schooled  through  our  mis- 
fortunes ;  we  remember  them,  and  generally  to  our  subse- 
quent good.  Those  that  can  be  avoided  we  learn  to  shun, 
and  those  which  are  inevitable  we  undergo  with  moral  philos- 
ophy and  greater  mental  serenity.  Contrasts  are  of  constant 
occurrence,  and  we  look  back  over  a  course  of  travel  as  we 
would  recall  the  thousand  combinations  and  changes  of  a  re- 
volving kaleidoscope. 

Some  years  ago,  it  was  my  fortune  to  make  a  ride  of 
nearly  two  hundred  miles  on  the  back  of  a  powerful  horse 
in  less  than  four  days.  He  was  a  trotter ;  not  a  fancy  ani- 
mal, but  a  good  sound  roadster,  whose  trot  would  have  roused 
the  digestion  of  a  dyspeptic  of  forty  years'  standing.  His 
back  rose  and  fell  like  the  walking-beam  of  a  North  River 
steamboat,  and  his  legs  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  at 
least  four  horses  of  different  sizes  and  attached  to  a  body 
which  was  intended  for  a  fifth  beast.  When  I  finished  my 
ride,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  put  through  a  patent  clothes- 
wringer,  and  every  joint  in  my  body  had  started  loose  from 
active  wear,  or  had  become  so  swollen  as  to  be  immovable. 
My  ride  on  this  wonderful  piece  of  horseflesh  ended  at  a 
railway  station.  Half  an  hour  after  I  alighted,  a  freight- 
train  arrived,  and  I  secured  a  place  in  a  box-car.  Seated  on 


266  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

a  pine  box,  and  leaning  against  the  rough  side  of  the  car, 
I  -continued  my  journey.  No  Pullman  palace  or  English 
first-class  was  ever  half  as  luxurious  as  that  vehicle;  the 
box  on  which  I  sat  was  like  a  Turkish  ottoman,  and  the 
board  where  my  back  rested,  occasionally  touching  a  protrud- 
ing nail  or  screw-head,  was  like  the  most  elegant  sofa  from 
a  Parisian  shop.  I  reclined,  and  speedily  fell  asleep,  lulled 
by  the  gentle  motion  of  the  car  along  the  rails.  The  track 
was  unballasted,  and  the  rails  were  laid  with  none  of  the 
fish-joints  and  other  improvements  which  add  so  much  to  the 
comfort  of  railway  travel.  Months  afterward  I  travelled  the 
same  route  in  an  ordinary  passenger-car,  and  found  the  rough 
jolting  almost  unendurable.  But  I  had  been  resting  in  the 
mean  time,  and  had  not  preceded  the  excursion  with  a  rough 
ride  on  horseback. 

Travel,  like  poverty  or  politics,  makes  one  acquainted  with 
strange  bedfellows,  both  literally  and  metaphorically.  A  traveller 
may  sleep  with  a  prince  or  a  beggar  according  to  circumstances, 
though  he  is  much  more  likely  to  share  his  dormitory  with 
the  latter  than  with  the  former.  Beggars  are  much  more 
numerous  than  princes,  and,  moreover,  the  princes  have  a 
practice  of  exclusiveness  that  is  not  generally  observed  among 
mendicants.  Your  prince  is  shy  of  strangers,  and  has  a  re- 
gard for  his  aristocratic  position,  but  the  beggar  does  not 
emboss  himself  with  any  such  pretensions.  He  fastens  to  you, 
and  oftentimes  the  surroundings  are  such  that  he  cannot  be 
shaken  off  with  ease.  If  he  be  a  genuine,  low-down  beggar, 
he  may  be  sent  away  with  a  small  contribution,  and  that  is 
the  end  of  him  so  far  as  you  are  concerned  ;  but  if  he  be- 
longs to  the  upper  or  swindling  class  of  beggary,  the  case  may 


THE    ASPERITIES    OF    TRAVEL.  267 

be  different  The  swindler  will  adhere  to  you  as  long  as  there 
is  a  prospect  of  obtaining  a  dollar  or  a  fraction  of  one  ;  and 
sometimes,  when  he  considers  the  financial  prospect  hopeless, 
he  remains  at  your  side  for  the  sake  of  your  society. 

I  have  in  mind  several  of  these  personages  whose  abilities 
would  have  gained  them  comfort,  if  not  affluence,  in  any 
honest  enterprise.  The  most  artistic  of  the  lot  was  a  French 
adventurer  who  entered  a  car  with  me  when  I  left  Strasbtirg 
on  a  journey  down  the  Rhine. 

Before  we  reached  Kehl,  he  had  told  me  his  history,  or  a 
goodly  portion  of  it,  and  offered  to  assist  at  the  opening  of 
my  baggage,  and  its  examination  at  the  custom-house.  We 
changed  cars  twice  before  reaching  Baden-Baden,  and  each 
time  he  remained  with  me ;  he  went  to  my  hotel,  supped  at 
the  table  with  me,  ordered  a  bottle  of  wine,  which  I  after- 
wards found  on  my  account,  and  would  have  forced  himself 
into  my  room  had  I  not  negatived  any  such  arrangement. 
He  disappeared  after  supper,  but  when  I  went  to  the  Conver- 
sation-Haus,  I  found  him  at  one  of  the  tables ;  he  informed 
me  that  he  was  always  lucky  at  rouge-et-noir,  and  offered  to 
bet  my  money  for  me  ;  but  in  consequence  of  various  prejudices 
which  I  entertained  about  the  man  and  the  game,  his  kind- 
ness went  unappreciated  and  unaccepted.  By  this  time  I  was 
amused  with  the  fellow  and  loaned  him  five  francs  by  way  of 
encouragement.  An  hour  before  I  left  the  place  I  confided 
to  him  my  intention  of  remaining  a  week  or  two,  and  found 
that  he  intended  staying  about  the  same  length  of  time.  He 
lost  sight  of  me  at  my  departure,  but  made  up  for  it  by  catch- 
ing me  a  couple  of  days  later  at  Frankfort.  He  adhered  to 
me  as  closely  as  possible,  and  took  the  train  with  me  to 


268  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Mayence.  We  agreed  to  go  to  a  certain  hotel,  and  while  he 
was  looking  for  his  baggage  I  slipped  away  to  another,  and 
made  a  wager  to  myself  that  he  would  find  me  within  an 
hour.  The  wagering  half  of  me  was  victorious,  as  he  was  with 
me  in  just  forty-nine  minutes  by  my  watch,  and  as  smiling  as 
a  prize-fighter,  coming  up  at  the  end  of  his  third  round. 

I  tried  to  deceive  him  about  my  departure  from  Mayence, 
but  he  was  too  sharp  for  me,  and  when  the  boat  was  well 
under  way  he  appeared  on  deck,  as  if  shot  up  from  below  like 
the  harlequin  in  a  pantomime.  Here  he  had  me  fairly  cor- 
nered, and  most  energetically  did  he  endeavor  to  inveigle  me. 
He  had  sent  his  baggage  to  Cologne  by  rail  in  order  to  be 
rid  of  the  encumbrance,  and,  quel  betise,  he  had  forgotten  to 
take  his  money  from  his  trunk,  and  there  he  was  penniless, 
or,  rather,  sous-less.  He  wanted  five  francs  to  pay  his  fare 
to  Coblenz,  and  I  cheerfully  accommodated  him ;  then  he 
wanted  more,  but  just  then  I  was  out  of  money,  and  depressed 
him  with  the  information  that  I  must  call  on  my  banker. 

I  stopped  at  Coblenz  and  he  continued  to  Cologne,  where 
he  proposed  to  secure  rooms  for  me,  and  meet  me  at  the  land- 
ing next  day.  I  thought  I  was  rid  of  him  ;  but  next  day 
there  he  was,  delighted  to  see  me,  and  sorry  to  say  that  his 
baggage  had  not  arrived,  and  that  he  should  be  forced,  much 
as  he  regretted  it,  to  depend  upon  the  kindness  of  his  dear 
American  friend.  Could  I  lend  him  a  hundred  francs,  which 
he  would  repay  me  in  Paris,  whither  both  were  travelling ;  and 
if  I  would  do  so,  he  would  be  my  friend  forever,  and  would 
remain  with  me  as  collateral  until  we  arrived  in  the  city  of 
luxury.  I  saw  that  he  would  no  longer  amuse  me  as  a  social 
study,  except  at  heavy  expense ;  he  had  cost  me  only  three 


THE    ASPERITIES    OF    TRAVEL.  269 

dollars  up  to  that  point,  and  I  naturally  considered  that  that 
sort  of  thing  had  gone  on  long  enough.  Henceforth  he  would 
be  a  burden,  and  if  I  desired  the  pleasure  of  his  company  I 
must  pay  for  it.  So  I  told  him,  in  the  best  translation  I 
could  make  of  American  slang,  that  the  game  was  played. 
"Je  ne  le  vois  pas"  I  said ;  "  vous  etes  un  bete  mart"  I 
could  not  think  just  then  of  the  exact  expression  in  French 
for  "fraud,"  but  am  satisfied  that  he  understood  me.  Under 
the  shadow  of  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne,  whence  the  centuries 
look  lovingly  down,  I  gave  him  a  valuable  lesson  in  Gallic 
phrases  culled  from  the  American  tongue,  —  a  lesson  which 
probably  proved  of  value,  as  he  took  down  some  of  the  phrases 
in  his  note-book. 

I  never  saw  him  again.  He  went  away  sorrowing,  for  he 
had  not  great  possessions,  and  thought,  when  he  made  my 
acquaintance,  that  he  had  found  somebody  who  would  be  his 
comfort  and  support. 

The  strange  bedfellows  which  a  traveller  meets  are  not  all 
of  the  human  sort.  He  associates  at  times  with  most  of  the 
animals  that  figure  in  zoological  works,  and  especially  with 
those  that  have  been  domesticated.  He  may  sleep  in  a  stable, 
and  be  thankful  that  he  is  admitted  there  ;  the  society  of 
horses,  mules,  and  cows  may  not  be  entirely  congenial  to  him, 
but  he  endures  it  with  quiet  philosophy,  albeit  he  departs 
with  a  strong  smell  of  stable  about  his  garments,  and  some- 
times with  a  few  footprints  of  his  quadrupedal  companions  on 
various  portions  of  his  body.  The  cow  and  the  horse  have 
many  excellent  qualities,  but  they  cannot  be  commended  as 
bosom  friends,  while  the  mule,  especially  the  one  that  kicks, 
is  to  be  shunned  when  shunning  is  possible.  The  mule  has 


2/0  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

no  paternal  instinct,  and  consequently  can  never  develop  af- 
fection, like  the  cow  or  horse.  The  dog  will  do  to  sleep  with, 
especially  if  he  is  your  dog  and  is  not  overborne  with 
fleas.  But  unfortunately,  the  flea  has  for  the  dog  an  affinity 
that  shapes  his  ends,  rough  indeed  for  his  human  associates, 
and  wretched  is  the  man  whose  couch  is  with  a  flea-haunted 
canine.  In  many  parts  of  the  world  fleas  abound  and  make 
the  traveller  miserable.  My  first  intimate  knowledge  of  them 
was  on  the  Amoor  River,  where  the  cabin  of  a  small  steamer 
seemed  to  be  full  of  them.  They  bit  me  from  head  to  foot, 
and  at  the  end  of  my  first  night  in  their  society  my  body 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  tattooed  with  red  ink  and  croton  oil. 
I  was  worse  off  the  next  night,  and  set  my  genius  at  work 
to  devise  a  means  to  be  rid  of  them.  I  obtained  some  bad 
brandy  from  the  steward  of  the  boat,  and '  before  retiring  the 
next  night  I  rubbed  myself  with  the  liquid,  and  then  wrapped 
snugly  in  a  sheet.  That  fixed  them.  They  must  have 
belonged  to  a  temperance  society,  as  they  did  n't  disturb  me 
afterwards  so  long  as  I  took  my  daily  bath  of  brandy.  The 
captain  of  the  boat  expressed  a  desire  to  know  how  to  drive 
away  the  fleas,  but  said  he  could  not.  I  told  him  it  was  his 
duty  to  utilize  them,  and  suggested  that  he  might  set  up  a 
treadmill  for  them,  and  by  using  them  to  run  his  machinery 
he  could  dispense  with  engines  and  steam.  He  did  not 
again  refer  to  the  subject. 

It  has  never  been  my  fortune  to  find  snakes  in  my  boots, 
though  persons  of  strictly  temperate  habits  have  been  known 
to  do  so  in  India  and  Java.  On  two  occasions  I  have  found 
snakes  —  or,  strictly  speaking,  a  snake  —  in  my  bed.  Once 
while  camped  out  on  our  Western  Plains,  I  waked  in  the 


THE    ASPERITIES    OF    TRAVEL.  271 

morning,  and  made  my  usual  attempt  to  turn  over  in  my 
blankets  for  another  nap.  There  was  something  lying  close 
against  me ;  it  felt  like  a  coil  of  rope,  but  developed  the 
uriropy  characteristic  of  life.  I  thought  of  snakes,  and  that 
thought  was  followed  by  an  emphatic  and  unusual  fondness 
for  early  rising.  It  was  not  quite  sunrise,  and  all  my  com- 
panions were  asleep ;  there  were  no  camp  duties  to  bring  me 
out  at  that  time,  but  nevertheless  I  was  determined  to  get 
up.  I  rose  from  my  blankets  with  less  grace  than  Venus 
rose  from  the  sea,  but  with  far  greater  rapidity.  I  made  a 
remark  in  rising  that  waked  a  friend  lying  near  me,  and 
caused  him  to  be  equally  unceremonious  in  abandoning  his 
couch.  One  after  another  the  rest  of  our  party  were  waked, 
and  in  less  than  two  minutes  about  twenty  half-dressed  and 
dishevelled  beings  were  gathered  around  my  blankets,  and 
gazing  upon  them  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  group  of  sci- 
entists, examining  a  newly  discovered  trilobite. 

There  was  something  moving  under  the  blankets,  and  it 
was  speedily  decided  that  the  something  was  a  snake.  A  club 
was  held  in  readiness,  and  as  the  reptile  showed  his  head  at 
the  edge  of  the  blanket  he  received  a  tap  that  would  have 
broken  the  skull  of  a  buffalo.  He  was  unceremoniously  killed 
and  stretched  on  the  grass  where  all  could  see  and  admire 
him.  He  was  a  cheerful  creature,  about  five  feet  long,  and 
belonged  to  the  race  known  on  the  Plains  as  the  "bull- 
snake,"  a  sort  of  first-cousin  to  the  rattlesnake.  We  hanged 
him  on  a  tree  and  left  him  as  a  warning  to  his  friends  who 
might  come  that  way.  For  several  days  I  thought  almost 
constantly  of  snakes,  and  for  an  equal  number  of  nights  I 
dreamed  of  them.  But,  after  a  while,  I  became  convinced  that 


2/2  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

snakes  and  lightning  do  not  generally  strike  twice  in  the  same 
place,  and  gradually  ceased  to  keep  this  incident  uppermost 
in  my  mind. 

The  other  snake  which  I  found  in  my  blankets  was  an  in- 
significant affair,  quite  unworthy  a  prominent  place  in  this 
narrative.  I  will  dismiss  him  as  summarily  as  on  the  occa- 
sion when  I  discovered  him.  Rats  and  mice  have  found  com- 
fort and  food  at  my  side  in  several  instances,  but  I  cannot 
say  that  I  particularly  desired  their  friendship.  It  is  not  at 
all  pleasant  to  wake  in  the  night,  as  has  been  my  luck,  and 
find  rats  and  mice  using  you  for  a  parade-ground  or  race-track, 
without  so  much  as  asking  your  permission,  and  I  hereby 
enter  a  protest  against  the  practice.  I  have  in  mind  an 
occasion  when  I  waked  in  the  morning  and  found  a  mouse i 
seated  on  my  nose  and  contemplating  the  scenery  around 
him.  He  was  not  a  large  mouse,  else  he  would  have  found 
the  nose  too  small  for  a  resting-place,  and  I  was  glad  on  his 
account  that  he  was  not  thus  incommoded.  But  he  was  so 
near  my  eyes,  that  he  appeared  as  large  as  an  elephant,  and 
I  did  not  know  his  genus  and  species  until  my  movements 
sent  him  scampering  away. 

The  characteristics  of  hotels  form  a  pleasing  subject  of 
contemplation,  and  to  a  thoughtful  traveller  they  are  an  un- 
failing source  of  instruction.  From  the  great  hotels  of  Paris 
and  New  York,  the  eye  looks  down  an  imaginary  avenue  of 
hostelries,  diminishing  in  more  senses  than  one,  as  they  recede 
and  are  lost  in -the  distance.  The  Grand  Hotel  of  Paris  stands 
at  the  end  of  the  avenue  nearest  the  spectator,  and  beyond  it 
are  the —  Well,  you  may  name  a  dozen  or  two  of  the  first- 
class  hotels  that  are  your  favorites  outside  of  the  French 


THE    ASPERITIES    OF    TRAVEL.  273 

capital.  Then  you  come  to  less  commodious,  though  not 
always  less  pretentious  establishments,  and  so  you  go  into 
the  distance  until  you  find  a  hostelry  of  the  most  primitive 
character.  You  may  be  reminded  by  this  imaginary  avenue 
of  the  road  somewhere  out  West,  that  began  most  magnifi- 
cently with  fine  pavements,  broad  sidewalks,  and  rows  of 
shade  trees,  and  gradually  diminished,  until  it  terminated  in 
a  squirrel-track,  and  ran  up  a  scrub-oak.  The  hotel  avenue 
may  terminate  in  the  same  way,  as  many  travellers  can  tell 
you.  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  sleeping  in  a  hollow  tree, 
and  thought  my  accommodations  were  far  preferable  to  stay- 
ing out  of  doors.  When  the  Calaveras  Grove  of  trees  in 
California  was  first  made  a  public  resort,  an  enterprising 
American  fitted  up  a  hollow  Sequoia  as  a  hotel,  and  hundreds 
of  persons  were  entertained  there.  A  neighboring  log  was 
used  as  a  stable,  so  that  the  landlord  could  boast  of  accom- 
modations for  man  and  beast. 

I  could  tell  many  stories  of  funny  experiences  in  hotels,  but 
the  limits  of  this  article  forbid,  and  I  can  give  only  a  few  of 
them.  Years  ago,  on  my  first  trip  to  the  West,  I  arrived  one 
evening  at  a  rural  hotel,  and  was  shown  to  a  room.  When 
about  to  retire,  I  found  there  was  but  a  single  sheet  on  the 
bed,  and,  supposing  a  mistake  had  been  made,  I  descended  to 
the  bar-room,  and  found  a  son  of  the  landlord.  Explaining 
the  situation,  I  was  told  that  no  bed  in  the  house  was  fur- 
nished with  more  than  I  had  found  on  mine,  and  the  youth 
muttered  something  about  my  being  "  mighty  particular."  I 
insisted  upon  a  more  complete  dressing  for  my  couch,  and 
the  son  went  for  the  father.  Through  the  open  door  from  the 
bar-room  to  the  kitchen  I  heard  the  statement  that  "  a  stuck- 


274  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

up  cuss  from  New  York  wants  an  extra  sheet  on  his  bed." 
The  landlord  intimated  that  I  could  go  to  a  locality  where 
even  one  sheet  would  be  a  superfluity,  and  for  a  while  my 
wants  were  treated  with  the  greatest  contempt.  Only  by 
making  a  row  did  I  obtain  what  I  desired. 

I  have  lodged  in  a  hotel  which  consisted  of  a  fence  drawn 
around  the  space  covered  by  the  branches  of  a  large  elm- 
tree,  and  divided  by  imaginary  lines  into  parlor,  kitchen,  and 
bedroom.  The  patrons  slept  on  the  ground  in  the  bed- 
room, and  each  patron  supplied  his  own  blankets.  To  make 
our  toilets  in  the  morning,  we  went  into  the  kitchen ;  i.  e. 
we  stepped  behind  the  tree.  In  a  hotel  in  Tennessee  I  once 
found  a  printed  placard  over  the  wash-stand  as  follows : 
"GENTLEMEN  wishing  towels  in  their  rooms  will  please  leave 
fifty  cents  at  the  office  for  security."  The  emphasis  on  the 
first  word  would  seem  to  imply  that  there  were  gentlemen 
who  have  no  use  for  towels.  In  another  establishment  I 
found  the  injunction,  "Guests  who  do  not  wish  their  boots 
stolen  will  not  put  them  outside  the  door."  A  man  suffering 
from  ill-fitting  boots  of  which  he  wished  to  be  rid  was  thus 
kindly  informed  how  he  could  dispose  of  them.  Whether  the 
landlord  kept  a  servant  whose  special  duty  it  was  to  steal 
boots  ejected  from  the  rooms,  I  did  not  venture  to  inquire. 

I  will  close  with  a  story  told  by  a  traveller  in  Texas.  "  I 
was  on  foot,"  said  he,  "and  came  to  a  river  where  the  only 
bridge  was  a  log  stretched  across  the  stream.  Like  the  Irish- 
man's blanket,  it  was  too  short  at  both  ends,  and  was  secured 
by  a  stout  grapevine.  At  either  end  of  the  log  there  was 
an  aching  void  of  five  or  six  feet ;  it  took  me  two  hours  to 
bring  brushwood  to  make  a  raft  to  ferry  myself  from  the 


THE    ASPERITIES    OF    TRAVEL.  2/5 

bank  to  the  log;  and  when  I  got  upon  it,  the  confounded 
thing  rolled  and  twisted  so,  that  I  had  hard  work  to  keep  my 
footing.  I  managed  to  get  to  the  other  end,  and  there  I  was 
obliged  to  jump.  I  fell  short  and  into  the  river,  but  caught 
hold  of  the  grapevine  and  pulled  out.  When  I  mounted  the 
bank  and  stopped  to  let  the  water  drip  from  my  clothes,  I 
found  a  sign-board  announcing  in  bold,  savage  letters,  "  FIVE 
DOLLARS  FINE  FOR  PASSING  THIS  BRIDGE  FASTER  THAN  A 
WALK  ! " 


EDGAR  A.  POE  AND  HIS  BIOGRAPHER. 


EDGAR  A.  POE  AND  HIS  BIOGRAPHER, 
RUFUS  W.  GRISWOLD. 

BY    WILLIAM    F.    GILL. 

ROM  the  fact  that  "Lotos  Leaves"  contained 
no  other  paper  of  a  similar  character  to  the 
article  which  I  have  prepared  with  what  care 
a  somewhat  brief  notice  would  permit,  I  have 
thought  it  best  to  consult  the  exigency  pre- 
sented by  this  fact  in  offering  my  contribution 
to  this  volume.  A  banquet,  too  largely  com- 
posed of  toothsome  confections,  however  excellent  their  quality, 
would  prove  palling  to  the  appetite.  The  gem  must  have  its 
setting,  which,  if  claiming  naught  of  beauty  or  rarity,  still  holds 
a  useful,  necessary  place.  The  brightest  limnings  in  the  painter's 
choicest  landscape  are  not  the  less  effective  in  that  they  stand 
out  relieved  by  the  contrast  of  a  most  somber  background. 

So  in  this  "  leaf,"  which  may  serve  the  humble  purpose  in 
lending,  by  its  harder' tone  and  deeper  shadow,  a  useful  con- 
trast to  the  brilliant  color  of  the  brighter  and  more  gladsome 
petals  with  which  it  is  surrounded. 

"  Dr.  Griswold's  biography  of  my  Eddie  is  one  atrocious 
lie,"  writes  Mrs.  Clemm,  the  mother-in-law  of  Edgar  Allan 
Poe,  in  a  letter  to  an  intimate  friend  ;  and  after  careful  re- 
searches, extending  over  the  space  of  three  years,  I  have  come, 


280  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

from  the  cumulation  of  corroborative  documentary  evidence, 
to  give  an  unequivocal  indorsement  to  Mrs.  Clemm's  state- 
ment. Intense  admiration  of  Foe's  writings  and  of  his  genius, 
mingled  with  deep  sympathy  for  the  exceptional  misfortunes 
of  his  career,  first  prompted  me  to  the  arduous  task  of  investi- 
gating the  story  of  his  life,  and  verifying  or  disproving  the 
statements  of  the  Griswold  biography  of  Poe,  which,  for  nearly 
twenty-five  years,  has  been  permitted  to  preface  the  author- 
ized editions  of  his  works  ;  also  forming  the  basis  of  several 
of  the  biographies  that  have  been  written  to  preface  the  Eng- 
lish editions  of  the  poet's  works.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Poe's 
poems  are  fivefold  more  popular  in  England  than  in  America, 
and  his  prose  writings,  which  have  never  secured  the  recog- 
nition of  extended  popular  currency  in  America,  are  even 
more  admired  in  England  than  are  his  poems.  I  cannot 
refrain  from  feeling  and  expressing  the  conviction  that  Gris- 
wold's  mendacious  biography,  preluding  the  American  edi- 
tions of  Poe,  and,  as  it  were,  forming  a  chilling  wet-blanket, 
most  repelling  to  the  warmest  admirer  of  the  poet,  is  in  a 
degree  responsible  for  the  comparatively  limited  circulation 
enjoyed  by  his  works  in  America.  I  measure  the  effect  of 
the  Griswold  biography  upon  the  intelligent  reader  precisely 
as  does  an  English  reviewer  the  biography  of  Poe  by  James 
Hannay,  based  upon  Griswold,  to  wit,  —  should  any  man  of 
taste  and  sense,  not  acquainted  with  Poe,  be  so  unfortunate 
as  to  look  at  Mr.  Griswold's  preface  before  reading  the  po- 
etry, it  is  extremely  probable  he  will  throw  the  book  into  the 
fire,  in  indignation  at  the  self-conceit  and  affected  smartness 
by  which  the  preface  is  characterized. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  demand  for  the  complete  edition  of 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.    <-    281 

Foe's  works  containing  the  Griswold  memoir  is  so  limited,  that 
within  a  few  months,  calling  for  this  edition  at  two  of  the  largest 
book-houses  in  Boston,  I  was  unable  to  obtain  a  copy,  and  was 
informed  that  the  calls  for  it  were  so  few  that  they,  the  dealers, 
were  not  encouraged  to  keep  this  edition  of  Poe  in  stock. 

Yet  no  one  will  deny  that  among  the  collections  of  poems 
by  various  authors  published,  Poe  is  among  the  most  popular 
and  the  most  admired  of  the  authors  represented. 

My  purpose  in  this  paper  being  to  offer  an  impartial  state- 
ment, or  a  series  of  statements,  duly  authenticated  by  docu- 
ments, controverting  the  statements  of  Dr.  Griswold,  rather 
than  to  attempt  any  eulogium  of  the  poet,  I  shall  devote  my 
allotted  space,  so  far  as  it  will  allow,  principally  to  meeting 
the  misstatements  of  the  reverend  vilifier.  Some  of  Dr. 
Griswold's  statements  are  properly  attributable  to  malicious 
and  vengeful  mendacity,  others  to  gross  and  inexcusable  care- 
lessness. Imprimis,  the  biographer  states  that  Edgar  A.  Poe 
was  born  in  Baltimore,  January  n.  Mr.  Poe  was  not  born 
in  January,  was  not  born  in  1811,  was  not  born  in  Baltimore; 
this  is  on  the  authority  of  the  records  (still  in  existence)  of 
the  University  of  Virginia,  at  Charlottesville. 

In  1816,  writes  the  biographer,  he  accompanied  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Allan  to  Great  Britain,  and  afterwards  passed  four  or 
five  years  in  a  school  kept  at  Stoke  Newington,  near  Lon- 
don, by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bransby.  "Encompassed  by  the  massy 
walls  of  this  venerable  academy  "  (writes  the  poet  in  "  William 
Wilson"),  "I  passed,  yet  not  in  tedium  or  disgust,  the  years 
of  the  third  lustrum  of  my  life." 

Had  he  not  been  born  until  1811,  as  Dr.  Griswold  states, 
he  would  not  have  attained  his  third  lustrum  during;  his 


282  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

sojourn  at  this  place.  Of  this  school  and  its  play-ground 
Poe  writes  in  the  same  sketch  :  "  The  extensive  enclosure  was 
irregular  in  form,  having  many  capacious  recesses.  Of  these, 
three  or  four  of  the  largest  constituted  the  play-ground.  It 

was  level  and  covered  with  hard  gravel But  the  house ! 

how  quaint  an  old  building  was  this !  to  me  how  veritably  a 
palace  of  enchantment !  There  was  really  no  end  to  its  wind- 
ings, to  its  incomprehensible  subdivisions.  It  was  difficult  at 
any  given  time  to  say  with  certainty  upon  which  of  its  .two 
stories  one  happened  to  be.  From  each  room  to  every  'other 
there  were  sure  to  be  found  three  or  four  steps  either  in  ascent 
or  descent. 

"  Then  the  lateral  branches  were  innumerable,  inconceiv- 
able, and  so  returning  in  upon  themselves,  that  our  most  ex- 
act ideas  in  regard  to  the  whole  mansion  were  not  very  far 
different  from  those  with  which  we  pondered  upon  infinity. 
During  the  five  years  of  my  residence  here,  I  was  never  able 
to  ascertain  with  precision  in  what  remote  locality  lay  the 
little  sleeping-apartment  assigned  to  myself  and  some  eighteen 
or  twenty  other  scholars." 

"In  1822"  (continues  Dr.  Griswold)  "he  entered  the  Univer- 
sity at  Charlottesville,  Virginia,  where  he  led  a  very  dissipated 
life  ;  the  manners  which  then  prevailed  there  were  extremely 
dissolute,  and  he  was  known  as  the  wildest  and  most  reck- 
less student  of  his  class  ;  but  his  unusual  opportunities,  and 
the  remarkable  ease  with  which  he  mastered  the  most  difficult 
studies,  kept  him  all  the  while  in  the  first  rank  for  scholar- 
ship/ and  he  would  have  graduated  with  the  highest  honors, 
had  not  his  gambling,  intemperance,  and  other  vices  induced 
his  expulsion  from  the  University." 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         283 

This  is  all  false  from  beginning  to  end,  and  is  absurd,  like- 
wise, on  the  biographer's  own  showing.  If  Poe  was  born  in 
iSn,  he  would  at  this  time  (1822)  have  been  eleven  years  of 
a-r^  —  rather  a  precocious  age,  is  it  not,  for  one  to  whom  is 
ascribed  the  role  of  a  rake  and  a  gambler?  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Poe  did  not  enter  the  University  until  1826,  being  then 
just  seventeen  years  of  age.  He  was  never,  according  to  reli- 
able evidence,  intoxicated  while  there,  nor  was  he  expelled. 

Following  the  death  of  his  foster-father,  there  came  to  Poe  a 
period  of  great,  although  probably  not  of  his  greatest,  suffer- 
ing. He  had  not  at  that  time  secured  attention  as  a  writer, 
and  his  condition  and  location  up  to  the  time  of  his  appear- 
ance as  a  competitor  for  the  Baltimore  prizes  are  veiled  from 
his  biographers.  It  is  not  improbable,  however,  that  he  made 
his  headquarters  at  the  time  with  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Clemm,  who 
afterwards  became  his  mother-in-law.  Dr.  Griswold,  not 
having  a  fact  at  hand  to  mortise  into  this  gap,  comes  to  the 
rescue  of  his  impotent  researches,  and  as  usual  placidly  in- 
vents another  bit  of  defamatory  fiction.  "  His  contributions," 
says  Dr.  Griswold,  "  attracted  little  attention,  and,  his  hopes 
of  gaining  a  living  in  this  way  being  disappointed,  he  enlisted 
in  the  army  as  a  private  soldier.  How  long  he  remained  in 
the  army  I  have  not  been  able  to  ascertain.  He  was  recog- 
nized by  officers  who  had  known  him  at  West  Point,  and 
efforts  were  made  privately,  but  with  prospects,  to  obtain  for 
him  a  commission,  when  it  was  discovered  by  his  friends  that 
he  had  deserted."  The  facts  are,  on  the  written  testimony 
of  Mrs.  Clemm,  that  at  this  time  his  friends  were  seeking  for 
him  a  commission,  and  it  is  folly  to  believe,  when  the  prospects 
were  favorable  for  his  securing  a  higher  position,  that  he  would 


284  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

have  enlisted  as  a  private,  and  thus  deliberately  and  unneces- 
sarily have  incurred  the  penalty  and  disgrace  of  desertion. 
That  Mrs.  Clemm,  at  least,  was  in  full  knowledge  of  his  where- 
abouts at  this  time,  is  evident  from  her  statement  made  in  this 
regard,  that  Poe  never  slept  one  night  away  from  home  until 
after  he  was  married.  It  is  futile  to  say  that  such  an  auda- 
cious rumor  should  never  have  obtained  admission  into  a 
memoir  of  Poe,  and  that  it  never  would  have  done  so  had 
proper  inquiries  been  made.  Griswold  never  cared  to  make 
inquiries,  and  if  he  had,  he  was  in  his  normal  condition  too 
unclean  a  man  ever  to  have  made  proper  inquiries. 

Dr.  Griswold's  next  fabrication  is  in  regard  to  the  details 
of  Poe's  appearance  as  a  competitor  for  the  prizes  offered  by 
the  proprietor  of  the  "Saturday  Visitor"  at  Baltimore.  The 
prizes  were  one  for  the  best  tale  and  one  for  the  best  poem. 
Dr.  Griswold  states  that,  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  Poe's 
penmanship,  the  committee,  without  opening  any  of  the  other 
manuscripts,  voted  unanimously  that  the  prizes  should  be 
paid  to  "the  first  of  geniuses  who  had  written  legibly."  On 
the  contrary,  there  appeared  in  the  Visitor,  after  the  awards 
were  made,  complimentary  comments  over  the  committee's 
own  signatures.  They  said,  among  other  things,  that  all  the 
tales  offered  by  Poe  were  far  better  than  the  best  offered 
by  others,  adding  "that  they  thought  it  a  duty  to  call  public 
attention  to  them  in  these  columns  in  that  marked  man- 
ner, since  they  possessed  a  singular  force  and  beauty,  and 
were  eminently  distinguished  by  a  rare  vigorous  and  poetical 
imagination,  a  rich  style,  a  fertile  invention,  and  varied  and 
curious  learning."  It  is  not  a  matter  of  great  importance,  but 
Dr.  Griswold's  famous  pen-photograph  of  Poe's  personal  ap- 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         285 

pearance  when  summoned  by  Mr.  Kennedy  to  receive  his  prize- 
money,  is  also  untrue.  I  have  not  the  copy  of  the  letter  at 
hand,  and  therefore  cannot  recall  the  precise  words  of  Mr. 
Kennedy  ;  but  I  have  in  my  possession  a  copy  of  an  origi- 
nal letter  which  most  positively  states  that  Poe's  appearance, 
although  somewhat  shabby,  was  not  by  any  means  absolutely 
poverty-stricken,  and  that  the  details  of  the  absence  of  shirt 
and  stockings,  mentioned  by  Dr.  Griswold,  are  false.  This 
statement  is  interesting  as,  in  a  way,  confirmatory  of  my 
impression  that  Poe  was  not  so  far  reduced  as  he  has  been 
represented  at  this  time.  And  when  it  is  remembered  that 
there  is  evidence  that  he  had  influential  friends  at  that  very 
time  working  to  secure  a  commission  for  him,  is  it  probable  that 
they  would  have  permitted  him  to  go  about  in  such  a  shock- 
ing condition  as  has  been  represented  ?  The  theory  that  he 
was  at  this  time  living  with  friends,  is  palpably  more  probable. 

That  his  success  in  securing  the  prizes  decided  him  upon 
enlisting  in  a  literary  career,  there  can  be  no  doubt  ;  hence  it 
is  a  matter  of  no  surprise  that  we  hear  no  more  of  the  army 
project  at  this  time. 

From  other  dates  which  have  come  to  me  from  private 
sources,  I  learn  that  he  met  Virginia  Clemm  when  she  was 
but  six  years  of  age,  that  he  undertook  her  tuition  at  ten,  and 
married  her  when  she  was  but  fourteen.  From  this,  it  is, 
again,  not  only  evident,  but  undoubted,  that  he  was  at  least  a 
frequent  visitor  at  the  Clemms'  at  the  period  of  his  career 
about  which  so  little  is  known  to  the  world.  An  amusing 
instance  of  Griswold's  pettiness  and  want  of  common-sense 
judgment,  even  in  his  endeavor  to  demean  the  position  and 
character  of  his  subject  as  much  as  possible,  is  found  in  the 


286  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

following  paragraph  in  the  biography.  Speaking  of  the  poet's 
connection  with  the  Literary  Messenger,  he  writes:  "In  the 
next  number  of  the  Messenger,  Mr.  White  announced  that 
Poe  was  its  editor,  or,  in  other  words,  that  he  had  made 
arrangements  with  a  gentleman  of  approved  literary  taste 
and  attainments,  to  whose  especial  management  the  editorial 
department  would  be  confided,  and  it  was  declared  that  this 
gentleman  would  '  devote  his  exclusive  attention  to  his  work.' " 
Having  put  this  down  in  black  and  white,  following  his  state- 
ment that  Mr.  White  was  a  man  of  much  purity  of  character, 
the  redoubtable  biographer  evidently  feels  that  he  has  set  Poe 
up  a  peg  too  high,  and  immediately  planes  him  down  to  an  en- 
durable level  in  the  next  sentence :  "  Poe  continued,  however, 
to  reside  in  Baltimore,  and  it  is  probable  that  he  was  engaged 
only  as  a  general  contributor  and  writer  of  critical  notices  of 
books''  Apropos  of  these  book  reviews,  Dr.  Griswold  dismisses 
them  as  follows :  "  He  continued  in  Baltimore  till  September. 
In  this  period  he  wrote  several  long  reviews,  which  for  the 
most  part  were  abstracts  of  works  rather  than  critical  discus- 
sions." As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Messenger  was  in  its  seventh 
month,  with  about  four  hundred  subscribers,  when  Poe  assumed 
the  editorship.  Poe  remained  with  this  journal  until  the  end 
of  its  second  year,  by  which  time  its  circulation  had  been 
increased  fourfold.  A  contemporary  of  Poe  writes  that  "  the 
success  of  the  Messenger  has  been  justly  attributable  to  Poe's 
exertions  on  its  behalf,  but  especially  to  the  skill,  honesty,  and 
audacity  of  the  criticism  under  the  editorial  head.  The  review 
of  "  Norman  Leslie "  may  be  said  to  have  introduced  a  new 
era  in  our  critical  literature."  But  Griswold  could  see  nothing 
in  Poe's  book  reviews  of  which  he  cared  to  speak,  for  reasons 
which  will  be  apparent  later. 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         287 

Dr.  Griswold's  next  mendacious  allusion  to  Poe  is  in  connec- 
tion with  his  account  of  his  secession  from  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine. 

After  mentioning  a  personal  correspondence  between  Bur- 
ton and  Poe,  in  which  the  views  of  the  latter,  whatever  they 
may  have  been,  are  carefully  suppressed,  Dr.  Griswold  ro- 
mances as  follows  :  "  He  [Burton]  was  absent  nearly  a  fort- 
night, and  on  returning  he  found  that  his  printers  had  not 
received  a  line  of  copy,  but  that  Poe  had  prepared  the 
prospectus  of  a  new  monthly,  and  obtained  transcripts  of  his 
subscription  and  account  books,  to  be  used  in  a  scheme  for 
supplanting  him.  He  encountered  his  associate  late  in  the 
evening  at  one  of  his  accustomed  haunts,  and  said,  'Mr. 
Poe,  I  am  astonished.  Give  me  my  manuscripts,  so  that  I 
can  attend  to  the  duties  which  you  have  so  shamefully  neg- 
lected, and  when  you  are  sober  we  will  settle.'  Poe  inter- 
rupted him  with,  '  Who  are  you  that  presume  to  address  me 
in  this  manner  ?  Burton;  I  am  the  editor  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Magazine,  and  you  are  —  hiccup  —  a  fool! '  Of  course,  this 
ended  his  relations  with  the  Gentleman's"  That  this  alleged 
conversation,  so  plausibly  narrated  as  to  pass  current  nem. 
con.,  were  it  not  for  the  existence  of  more  reliable  documentary 
evidence,  is  an  audacious  invention,  has  been  made  apparent 
to  me  from  the  written  testimony  of  gentlemen  connected 
with  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  at  this  time. 

Dr.  Griswold  devotes  considerable  space  to  his  next  mis- 
statement,  which  relates  to  Mr.  Poe's  reading  of  an  original 
poem  before  the  Boston  Lyceum.  Our  lecture  managers  and 
lecture  public  were  more  exacting  twenty-five  years  ago,  on 
some 'points,  than  at  the  present  time.  Now,  it  suffices  for  a 


288  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

reputable  celebrity  to  show  himself  upon  the  rostrum.  Pro- 
vided he  does  not  occupy  too  much  time  (one  hour  or  an 
hour  and  fifteen  minutes  is'  about  the  fashionable  limit),  he 
may  be  sure  of  copious  applause,  of  fervent  congratulations 
from  beaming  managers,  and  a  plethoric  purse  upon .  retiring. 
Then,  O  insatiable  manager  and  exacting  public !  the  best 
literary  work  expressly  performed  for  the  occasion  was  de- 
manded, or  woe  betide  the  celebrities  who  failed  to  meet  these 
requirements  ! 

Poe  was  probably  fully  conscious  of  this,  and,  not  unlike 
other  geniuses  in  the  history  of  the  literary  world,  was  driven 
wellnigh  frantic  in  contemplation  of  his  task  of  the  "  written- 
expressly-for-this-occasion  poem. "  It  ended  as  most  of  these 
unequal  contests  between  inspiration  and  necessity  have  ended 
time  and  time  again.  The  day  arrived,  and  no  new  creations 
had  been  evolved  from  the  goaded  and  temporarily  irrespon- 
sive brain.  He  went  to  Boston  to  fill  his  engagement,  nerved 
to  meet  the  ordeal  by  a  spirit  which  brought  him  compensa- 
tion for  his  anxiety,  —  a  spirit  which  Mr.  E.  P.  Whipple,  the 
distinguished  essayist,  at  that  time  immediately  associated 
with  Poe,  most  admirably  describes  as  intellectual  mischief.* 
He  could  not  do  what  he  had  been  invited  to  do ;  well, 
he  would  make  them  believe  that  he  had  filled  the  demand, 
if  he  could,  and  then  honestly  own  up,  and  let  them  laugh 
at  him  and  with  him. 

*  Poe's  connection  with  the  Text-Book  of  Conchology,  of  which  Dr.  Griswold 
makes  such  a  point,  is  undoubtedly  attributable  to  this  same  spirit  of  intellectual 
mischief.  No  other  cause  can  reasonably  be  assigned  for  the  publication  of  the 
book  under  the  circumstances.  There  was  no  money  in  such  a  venture,  and  the 
action  partakes  so  much  of  the  color  of  Poe's  purely  mischievous  pranks  in  other 
fields,  that  I  cannot  but  assign  it  to  the  same  species  of  impulse. 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         289 

Dr.  Griswold  makes  a  labored  effort  to  show  that  Poe's  failure 
to  meet  his  engagement  to  the  letter  was  due  to  cares,  anxie- 
ties, and  "  feebleness  of  will."  The  charge  of  feebleness  of  will, 
applied  to  Poe  in  his  strictly  literary  capacity,  is  perhaps  one 
of  the  most  sapient  bits  of  analysis  of  which  the  reverend 
and  profound  doctor  has  delivered  himself.  As  regards  Dr. 
Grisvvold's  mention  of  the  assistance  of  Mrs.  Osgood,  desired  by 
Poe,  it  is  so  manifestly  absurd,  that  the  biographer's  ingenuity 
and  invention  fail  to  enlist  any  credence  in  this  bit  of  fiction. 

The  literary  world  of  Boston  twenty-five  years  ago  was 
marked  by  characteristics  that  rendered  it  anything  but 
liberal  and  indulgent.  Had  Poe  had  the  fortunate  tact  to 
disarm  his  audience  by  "owning  up"  at  the  outset,  and 
in  advance,  deftly  knuckling,  as  he  might  have  done,  to  its 
boasted  literary  acumen  and  perceptiveness,  all  might  have 
been  well.  But  he  chose  rather  to  indulge  his  mischievous 
propensity,  to  his  cost,  as  it  afterwards  proved.  In  his  card 
in  the  Broadway  Journal,  the  poet,  in  acknowledging  his  con- 
fession to  a  company  of  gentlemen  at  a  supper  which  took 
place  after  the  reading,  truly  says,  in  closing,  "We  should 
have  waited  a  couple  of  days."  He  should  indeed  have 
waited  ;  for  among  the  company  was  a  pitcher  that  could  not 
contain  the  water,  and  the  premature  leak  being  made  pub- 
lic, naturally  aroused  a  storm  of  indignant  criticism  upon  the 
poet's  assumption.  His  long  poem  had  been  applauded  to 
the  echo,  and  the  reading  of  "  The  Raven  "  afterwards,  had  sent 
the  audience  home  in  the  best  of  spirits.  Poe  was  too  frank  and 
impulsive  to  keep  the  joke  to  himself,  and,  finding  that  he  had 
not  taken  in  all  of  the  men  with  brains  who  received  him, 
he,  without  a  word  of  suggestion,  made  a  clean  breast  of  it. 


2QO  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

How  did  the  truth  get  to  the  papers,  is  the  question.  We 
were  young  indeed,  then,  it  is  true.  But  must  not  the  full- 
fledged  interviewer  of  the  present  day  have  been  a  grub  at 
some  time  ?  and,  if  so,  may  not  he  then  have  lain  snugly  en- 
sconced in  the  comfortable  folds  of  Poe's  black  frock  ? 

It  is  difficult  to  meet  with  absolute  documentary  evidence 
such  a  statement  as  Griswold  makes  in  regard  to  the  poet 
borrowing  money  of  a  lady,  and  then,  when  asked  to  return 
it  as  promised,  threatening  to  exhibit  a  correspondence  that 
would  make  the  woman  infamous.  Griswold  manages,  how- 
ever, to  admit  that  whatever  his  subject  might  have  been 
with  men,  he  was  "different"  with  women;  and  the  numer- 
ous letters  which  I  have  seen  in  the  poet's  hand  to  the  select 
circle  of  his  near  lady  friends,  mark  his  relations  with  them 
as  characterized  by  uniform  delicacy,  deference,  and  chaste 
feeling.  That  this  glittering  generality  of  Griswold's,  in  this 
instance  of  the  borrowing,  is  another  glaring  falsehood,  every 
known  attribute  of  the  poet  tends  to  show. 

As  regards  Mr.  Poe's  letters  alluding  to  his  dangerous  ill- 
ness, concerning  which  Mr.  Griswold  states  that  Poe  was  not 
dangerously  ill  at  all  at  the  time,  I  have  the  testimony  of  a 
most  estimable  lady  now  living,  at  whose  house  Mr.  Poe  was 
a  frequent  visitor,  that  Mr.  Poe  was  almost  at  death's  door  at 
the  time  from  an  attack  of  congestion  of  the  brain,  which  was  in 
reality  the  final  cause  of  his  death.  I  have  also  the  testimony 
before  me  in  Mr.  Poe's  own  hand,  spite  of  Griswold's  statement 
that  there  was  no  literary  or  personal  abuse  of  him  in  the 
journals  of  which  Poe  complained,  that  at  this  very  time  he 
(Poe)  brought  a  suit  for  libel  against  one  of  his  vilifiers  and 
obtained  "  exemplary  damages." 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         291 

Speaking  of  the  severing  of  Foe's  connection  with  Grahams 
Magazine,  Dr.  Griswold  writes:  "The  infirmities  which  in- 
duced his  separation  from  Mr.  White  and  Mr.  Burton  at 
length  compelled  Mr.  Graham  to  find  another  editor";  and 
also  in  the  same  connection,  "  It  is  known  that  the  personal 
ill-will  on  both  sides  was  such  that  for  some  four  or  five 
years  not  a  line  by  Poe  was  purchased  for  Grahams  Magazine? 
The  italics  are  Dr.  Griswold's.  He  evidently  believes  with 
Chrysos,  the  art  patron  in  W.  S.  Gilbert's  play  of  "  Pygmalion 
and  Galatea,"  that  when  a  person  tells  a  lie,  he  "should  tell 
it  well." 

It  is  a  patent  fact,  that,  among  the  indignant  refutations  of 
Griswold's  mendacious  memoir  of  Poe,  which  was  published 
both  in  newspaper  and  magazine  form  previous  to  its  being 
included  with  Poe's  works,  was  a  manly  and  spirited  defence  of 
the  poet  written  by  Mr.  Graham  in  the  New  York  Tribune.  Mr. 
Graham,  a  few  months  later,  wrote  in  his  own  magazine  a  more 
extended  review  of  Griswold's  memoir,  from  which  we  append 
the  following  significant  extracts :  "  I  knew  Mr.  Poe  well,  — 
far  better  than  Mr.  Griswold;  and,  by  the  memory  of  old 
times  when  he  was  an  editor  of  Grahams,  I  pronounce  this 
exceedingly  ill-timed  and  unappreciative  estimate  of  our  lost 
friend  unfair  and  untrue.  It  is  Mr.  Poe  as  seen  by  the  writer 
while  laboring  under  a  fit  of  the  nightmare  ;  but  so  dark  a 
picture  has  no  resemblance  to  the  living  man.  It  must  have 
been  made  in  a  moment  of  spleen,  written  out  and  laid  aside, 
and  handed  to  the  printer,  when  his  death  was  announced, 
with  a  sort  of  a  chuckle.  He  is  not  Mr.  Poe's  peer,  and  I 
challenge  him  before  the  country  even  as  a  juror  in  the  case." 
Of  the  parallel  drawn  between  Poe  and  Bulwer's  Francis 


292  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Vivian  in  "The  Caxtons,"  in  which  Dr.  Griswold  paints  in 
lurid  colors  the  alleged  envy  and  vaulting  ambition  of  the 
poet,  Mr.  Graham  writes :  "  Now  this  is  dastardly,  and,  what 
is  worse,  it  is  false.  It  is  very  adroitly  done,  with  phrases 
very  well  turned,  and  with  gleams  of  truth  shining  out  from 
a  setting  so  dusky  as  to  look  devilish.  Mr.  Griswold  does 
not  feel  the  worth  of  the  man  he  has  undervalued,  he  has  no 
sympathies  in  common  with  him,  and  has  allowed  old  preju- 
dices and  old  enmities  to  steal,  insensibly  perhaps,  into  the 
coloring  of  his  picture.  They  were  for  years  totally  uncon- 
genial, if  not  enemies ;  and  during  that  period  Mr.  Poe,  in  a 
scathing  lecture  upon  '  Poets  of  America,'  gave  Griswold  some 
raps  over  the  knuckles  of  force  sufficient  to  be  remembered. 

"  Nor  do  I  consider  Mr.  Griswold  competent,  with  all  the 
opportunities  he  may  have  cultivated  or  acquired,  to  act  as  his 
judge,  —  to  dissect  that  subtle  and  singularly  fine  intellect,  to 
probe  the  motives  and  weigh  the  actions  of  that  proud  heart. 
His  whole  nature  —  that  distinctive  presence  of  the  departed 
which  now  stands  impalpable,  yet  in  strong  outline  before  me, 
as  I  knew  him  and  felt  him  to  be — eludes  the  rude  grasp 
of  a  mind  so  warped  and  uncongenial  as  Mr.  Griswold's." 

This  statement  of  Mr.  Graham's  was  in  the  form  of  an 
open  letter  to  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis,  and  carefully  avoided  any 
specific  personal  charges,  demonstrating  more  exactly  the 
basis  of  Dr.  Griswold's  unscrupulous  and  malignant  animus. 
As  Dr.  Griswold  never  presumed  to  make  any  detailed  pub- 
lic reply  to  this  or  similar  articles  derogatory  to  the  fair- 
ness of  his  views,  it  is  perhaps  as  well  that  the  more  specific 
charges  that  might  have  been  made,  have  been  reserved  for 
the  present  time. 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         293 

Mr.  Graham  is  now  living,  and  when  I  last  saw  him  he 
was  in  excellent  health.  I  was  then,  of  course,  intent  upon 
securing  data  in  regard  to  the  life  of  Poe,  and  in  a  conversa- 
tion with  Mr.  Graham,  some  peculiarly  significant  facts  touch- 
ing Griswold's  veracity  in  particular  were  elicited. 

Mr.  Graham  states  that  Poe  never  quarrelled  with  him, 
never  was  discharged  from  Grahams  Magazine ;  and  that 
during  the  "  four  or  five  years "  italicized  by  Dr.  Griswold  as 
indicating  the  personal  ill-will  between  Mr.  Poe  and  Mr. 
Graham,  over  fifty  articles  by  Poe  were  accepted  by  Mr. 
Graham. 

The  facts  of  Mr.  Poe's  secession  from  Grahams  were  as 
follows :  — 

Mr.  Poe  was,  from  illness  or  other  causes,  absent  for  a 
short  time  from  his  post  on  the  magazine.  Mr.  Graham  had, 
meanwhile,  made  a  temporary  arrangement  with  Dr.  Griswold 
to  act  as  Poe's  substitute  until  his  return.  Poe  came  back 
unexpectedly,  and,  seeing  Griswold  in  his  chair,  turned  on  his 
heel  without  a  word,  and  left  the  office,  nor  could  he  be 
persuaded  to  enter  it  again,  although,  as  stated,  he  sent 
frequent  contributions  thereafter  to  the  pages  of  the  maga- 
zine. 

The  following  anecdote  well  illustrates  the  character  of 
Poe's  biographer.  Dr.  Griswold's  associate  in  his  editorial 
duties  on  Grahams  was  Mr.  Charles  J.  Peterson,  a  gentle- 
man long  and  favorably  known  in  connection  with  prominent 
American  magazines.  Jealous  of  his  abilities,  and  unable  to 
visit  his  vindictiveness  upon  him  in  propria  persona,  Dr. 
Griswold  conceived  the  noble  design  of  stabbing  him  in  the 
back,  writing  under  a  non  de  plume  in  another  journal,  the  New 


294  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

York  Review.  In  the  columns  of  the  Review  there  appeared 
a  most  scurrilous  attack  upon  Mr.  Peterson,  at  the  very  time 
in  the  daily  interchange  of  friendly  courtesies  with  his  treach- 
erous associate.  Unluckily  for  Dr.  Griswold,  Mr.  Graham  saw 
this  article,  and,  immediately  inferring,  from  its  tone,  that 
Griswold  was  the  undoubted  author,  went  to  him  with  the 
article  in  his  hand,  saying,  "  Dr.  Griswold,  I  am  very  sorry  to 
say  I  have  detected  you  in  what  I  call  a  piece  of  rascality." 
Griswold  turned  all  colors  upon  seeing  the  article,  but  stoutly 
denied  the  imputation,  saying,  "  I  '11  go  before  an  alderman 
and  swear  that  I  never  wrote  it."  It  was  fortunate  that  he 
was  not  compelled  to  add  perjury  to  his  meanness,  for  Mr. 
Graham  said  no  more  about  the  matter  at  that  time,  waiting 
his  opportunity  for  authoritative  confirmation  of  the  truth  of 
his  surmises.  He  soon  found  his  conjectures  confirmed  to 
the  "letter.  Being  well  acquainted  with  the  editor  of  the 
Review,  he  took  occasion  to  call  upon  him  shortly  afterwards 
when  in  New  York.  Asking  as  a  special  favor  to  see  the 
manuscript  of  the  article  in  question,  it  was  handed  to  him. 
The  writing  was  in  Griswold's  hand. 

Returning  to  Philadelphia,  he  called  Griswold  to  him,  told 
him  the  facts,  paid  him  a  month's  salary  in  advance,  and  dis- 
missed him  from  his  post  on  thev  spot. 

So  it  becomes  evident  that  the  memory  of  Poe's  biographer, 
confused  upon  the  point  of  his  discharge  from  Grahams,  has 
saddled  Poe  with  the  humiliation  and  disgrace  that  alone  be- 
longed to  him.  The  probing  of  the  personal  history  of  Rufus 
W.  Griswold  is  like  stirring  up  a  jar  of  sulphuretted  hydro- 
gen,—  it  exhales  nothing  but  foul  and  loathsome  odors.  Most 
of  the  associations  of  this  man  in  private  life  are  too  vile  to 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         295 

place  before  refined  readers.  One  anecdote  I  may  be  permitted 
to  give,  to  illustrate  his  utter  heartlessness  and  depravity. 

At  one  time  in  his  career  he  met  and  became  well  ac- 
quainted with  two  ladies  (sisters)  from  South  Carolina,  who 
were  reputed  to  be  very  wealthy.  He  paid  them  every  atten- 
tion, and  finally  became  engaged  to  one  of  them,  whom  he 
shortly  afterwards  married.  On  the  very  day  of  the  wedding, 
and  almost  immediately  after  the  ceremony,  he  was  informed 
that  the  estimable  lady  whom  he  made  his  wife  was  a  por- 
tionless bride.  There  had  been  no  attempt  made  by  the  lady 
to  create  the  impression  that  she  was  wealthy,  nor  did  she 
dream  for  a  moment  that  a  supposed  fortune,  and  not  herself, 
had  secured  the  villain's  attachment.  Dr.  Griswold  made 
short  work  of  sentiment  and  conscience.  On  the  day  after 
the  wedding,  he  coolly  informed  his  bride  at  the  breakfast-table 
that  they  must  part  forever,  giving  for  the  pretext  a  rea- 
son so  foul,  so  monstrous,  that  its  repetition  in  these  pages 
is  impossible,  from  the  shocking  indecency  of  the  atrocious 
subterfuge.  Spite  of  tears  and  protestations,  he  deserted 
the  bride  of  a  day,  never  to  return  to  her,  nor  com- 
municate with  her  again.  It  is  a  matter  of  surprise  that  a 
man  capable  of  such  diabolical  mendacity  as  Dr.  Griswold  has 
shown  himself  to  be,  should  have  found  anything  favorable  to 
say  in  his  memoir,  nor  would  he  have  done  so,  probably,  had 
not  the  poet's  pre-eminent  genius  made  the  few  truths  to  be 
found  in  the  biography  as  familiar  as  household  words  to  the 
literary  world. 

The  next  important  statement  made  by  Dr.  Griswold,  and, 
unquestionably,  the  most  heinous  falsehood  to  be  found  in 
the  whole  tissue  of  fabrication  which  has  been  so  extensively 


296  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

copied  as  "the  life  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,"  is  the  statement  in  re- 
gard to  Poe's  alleged  breaking  of  his  engagement  with  Mrs. 
Sarah  Helen  Whitman,  of  Providence,  Rhode  Island.  I  may 
be  permitted,  in  introducing  what  I  have  to  offer  on  this  sub- 
ject, to  present  a  letter  elicited  by  Mr.  Griswold's  original 
statement,  written  by  Mr.  William  J.  Pabodie  an  esteemed  and 
influential  citizen  of  Providence  :  — 

To  THE  EDITORS  OF  THE  NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE:  — 

In  an  article  on  American  Literature  in  the  Westminster  Review 
for  April,  and  in  one  on  Edgar  A.  Poe  in  Taifs  Magazi?ie  for 
the  same  month,  we  find  a  repetition  of  certain  incorrect  and 
injurious  statements  in  regard  to  the  deceased  author,  which 
should  not  longer  be  suffered  to  pass  unnoticed.  These  statements 
have  circulated  through  half  a  dozen  foreign  and  domestic  periodi- 
cals, and  are  presented  with  an  ingenious  variety  of  detail.  As  a 
specimen,  we  take  a  passage  from  Tait,  who  quotes  as  his  author- 
ity Dr.  Griswold's  memoir  of  the  poet:  — 

"Poe's  life,  in  fact,  during  the  three  years  that  yet  remained  to  him, 
was  simply  a  repetition  of  his  previous  existence,  notwithstanding  which 
his  reputation  still  increased,  and  he  made  many  friends.  He  was,  indeed, 
at  one  time,  engaged  to  marry  a  lady  who  is  termed  *  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  women  in  New  England.'  He,  however,  suddenly  changed  his 
determination  ;  and,  after  declaring  his  intention  to  break  the  match,  he 
crossed  the  same  day  into  the  city  where  the  lady  dwelt,  and,  on  the  even- 
ing that  should  have  been  the  evening  before  the  bridal,  'committed  in 
drunkenness  such  outrages  at  her  house  as  made  necessary  a  summons 
of  the  police.' " 

The  subject  is  one  which  cannot  well  be  approached  without  in- 
vading the  sanctities  of  private  life ;  and  the  improbabilities  of  the 
story  may,  to  those  acquainted  with  the  parties,  be  deemed  an  all- 
sufficient  refutation.  But,  in  view  of  the  rapidly  increasing  circula- 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         297 

{ 

tion  which  this  story  has  obtained,  and  the  severity  of  comment 
which  it  has  elicited,  the  friends  of  the  late  Edgar  A.  Poe  deem  it 
an  imperative  duty  to  free  his  memory  from  this  unjust  reproach, 
and  oppose  to  it  their  unqualified  denial.  Such  a  denial  is  due, 
not  only  to  the  memory  of  the  departed,  but  also  to  the  lady 
whose  home  is  supposed  to  have  been  desecrated  by  these  dis- 
graceful outrages. 

Mr.  Poe  was  frequently  my  guest  during  his  stay  in  Providence. 
In  his  several  visits  to  the  city  I  was  with  him  daily.  I  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  circumstances  of  his  engagement,  and  with  the 
causes  which  led  to  its  dissolution.  I  am  authorized  to  say,  not 
only  from  my  personal  knowledge,  but  also  from  the  statements  of 
all  who  were  conversant  with  the  affair,  that  there  exists  not  a 
shadow  of  foundation  for  the  stories  above  alluded  to. 

Mr.  Poe's  friends  have  no  desire  to  palliate  his  faults,  nor  to 
conceal  the  fact  of  his  intemperance,  —  a  vice  which,  though  never 
habitual  to  him,  seems,  according  to  Dr.  Griswold's  published  state- 
ments, to  have  repeatedly  assailed  him  at  the  most  momentous 
epochs  of  his  life.  With  the  single  exception  of  this  fault,  which 
he  so  fearfully  expiated,  his  conduct,  during  the  period  of  my  ac- 
quaintance with  him,  was  invariably  that  of  a  man  of  honor  and  a 
gentleman ;  and  I  know  that,  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  him 
best  among  us,  he  is  remembered  with  feelings  of  melancholy  inter- 
est and  generous  sympathy. 

We  understand  that  Dr.  Griswold  has  expressed  his  sincere  re- 
gret that  these  unfounded  reports  should  have  been  sanctioned  by 
his  authority;  and  we  doubt  not,  if  he  possesses  that  fairness  of 
character  and  uprightness  of  intention  which  we  have  ascribed  to 
him,  that  he  will  do  what  lies  in  his  power  to  remove  an  unde- 
served stigma  from  the  memory  of  the  departed. 

WILLIAM  J.   PABODIE. 

PROVIDENCE,  June  2,  1852. 


298  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

In  answer  to  this,  we  find  Dr.  Griswold  in  the  r61e  of  a  bully, 
impudently  attempting  to  put  down  Mr.  Pabodie's  dignified 
statement,  vi  et  armis.  He  writes  to  Mr.  Pabodie  a  private 
letter  as  follows  :  — 

NEW  YORK,  June  8,  1852. 

DEAR  SIR,  — I  think  you  have  done  wrong  in  publishing  your 
communication  in  yesterday's  Tribune  without  ascertaining  how  it 
must  be  met.  I  have  never  expressed  any  such  regrets  as  you 
write  of,  and  I  cannot  permit  any  statement  in  my  memoir  of  Poe 
to  be  contradicted  by  a  reputable  person,  unless  it  is  shown  to  be 
wrong.  The  statement  in  question  I  can  easily  prove  on  the  most 
unquestionable  authority  to  be  true ;  and  unless  you  explain  your 
letter  to  the  Tribune  in  another  for  publication  there,  you  will  compel 
me  to  place  before  the  public  such  documents  as  will  be  infinitely 
painful  to  Mrs.  Whitman  and  all  others  concerned.  The  person 
to  whom  he  disclosed  his  intention  to  break  off  the  match  was  Mrs. 

H 1.     He  was  already  engaged  to  another  party.      I  am   sorry 

for  the  publication  of  your  letter.  Why  you  did  not  permit  me  to 
see  it  before  it  appeared,  and  disclose  in  advance  these  conse- 
quences, I  cannot  conceive.  I  would  willingly  drop  the  subject, 
but  for  the  controversies  hitherto  in  regard  to  it,  with  which  you 
are  acquainted.  Before  writing  to  the  Tribune,  I  will  await  your 
opportunity  to  acknowledge  this  note,  and  to  give  such  explana- 
tions of  your  letter  as  will  render  any  public  statement  on  my 
part  unnecessary. 

In  haste,  yours  respectfully, 

R.  W.  GRISWOLD. 
W.  J.  PABODIE,  ESQ. 

This  letter  to  Mr.  Pabodie  also  contains  certain  indecent 
allusions,  designed  to  prejudice  Mr.  Pabodie  against  Poe,  and 
to  accelerate  the  complete  bottling  up  of  the  unwelcome  truths 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         299 

of  which  Mr.  Griswold  knew  the  Providence  gentleman  was 
aware.  But  for  the  arrogant  and  defiant  assumptions  of  Dr. 
Griswold,  it  is  not  probable  that  Mr.  Pabodie  would  have  re- 
plied to  his  letter ;  for  Mr.  Pabodie  was  a  gentleman.  Never- 
theless, in  the  interest  of  truth  and  justice,  he  did  respond 
with  a  clincher  to  Dr.  Griswold,  as  follows:  — 

June  n,  1852. 
MR.  RUFUS  W.  GRISWOLD. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  In  reply  to  your  note,  I  would  say  that  I  have 
simply  testified  to  what  /  know  to  be  true,  namely,  that  no  such 
incident  as  that  so  extensively  circulated  in  regard  to  certain  al- 
leged outrages  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Whitman,  and  the  calling  of 
the  police,  ever  took  place.  The  assertion  that  Mr.  Poe  came  to 
Providence  the  last  time  with  the  intention  of  breakin°-  off  the 

o 

engagement  you  will  find  equally  unfounded  when  I  have  stated 
to  you  the  facts  as  I  know  them.  In  remarking  that  you  had 
expressed  regret  at  the  fact  of  their  admission  into  your  memoir, 
I  had  reference  to  a  passage  in  a  letter  written  by  Mrs.  H. 
to  Mrs.  W.,  which  was  read  to  me  by  the  latter  some  time  since. 
I  stated  in  all  truthfulness  the  impression  which  that  letter  had 
left  upon  my  mind.  I  enclose  an  extract  from  the  letter,  that  you 
may  judge  for  yourself  :  — 

"  Having  heard  that  Mr.  Poe  was  engaged  to  a  lady  of  Providence,  I 
said  to  him,  on  hearing  that  he  was  going  to  that  city,  '  Mr.  Poe,  are 
you  going  to  Providence  to  be  married?'  <I  am  going  to  deliver  a  lec- 
ture on  Poetry,'  he  replied.  Then,  after  a  pause,  and  with  a  look  of 
great  reserve,  he  added,  'That  marriage  may  never  take  place.'"* 

I  know  that  from  the  commencement  of  Poe's  acquaintance  with 
*  In  another  letter  Mrs.   H.  writes,  referring  to  this  conversation,  indignant  at 
the  use  which  Dr.  Griswold  had  made  of  these  innocent  words  more  than  a  year 
after  she  had  reported  them,  "  These  were  Mr.  Poe's  words,  and  these  were  all." 


300  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

Mrs.  W.,  he  repeatedly  urged  her  to  an  immediate  marriage.  At  the 
time  of  his  interview  with  Mrs.  H.,  circumstances  existed  which 
threatened  to  postpone  the  marriage  indefinitely,  if  not  altogether 
to  prevent  it.  It  was,  undoubtedly,  with  reference  to  these  circum- 
stances that  his  remark  to  Mrs.  H.  was  made,  certainly  not  to 
breaking  off  the  engagement,  as  his  subsequent  conduct  will  prove. 
He  left  New  York  for  Providence  on  the  afternoon  of  his  inter- 
view with  Mrs.  H.,  not  with  any  view  to  the  proposed  union,  but 
at  the  solicitation  of  the  Providence  Lyceum  ;  and  on  the  even- 

*. 

ing  of  his  arrival  delivered  his  lecture  on  American  Poetry,  before 
an  audience  of  some  two  thousand  persons.  During  his  stay  he 
again  succeeded  in  renewing  his  engagement,  and  in  obtaining  Mrs. 
W.'s  consent  to  an  immediate  marriage. 

He  stopped  at  the  Earl  House,  where  he  became  acquainted  with 
a  set  of  somewhat  dissolute  young  men,  who  often  invited  him  to 
drink  with  them.  We  all  know  that  he  sometimes  yielded  to  such 
temptations,  and  on  the  third  or  fourth  evening  after  his  lecture, 
he  came  up  to  Mrs.  Whitman's  in  a  state  of  partial  intoxication. 
I  was  myself  present  nearly  the  whole  evening,  and  do  most  sol- 
emnly affirm  that  there  was  no  noise,  no  disturbance,  no  "  outrage," 
neither  was  there  any  "call  for  the  police."  Mr.  Poe  said  but  lit- 
tle. This  was  undoubtedly  the  evening  referred  to  in  your  memoir, 
for  it  was  the  only  evening  in  which  he  was  intoxicated  during  his 
last  visit  to  this  city ;  but  it  was  not  "  the  evening  that  should  have 
been  before  the  bridal,"  for  they  were  not  then  published,  and 
the  law  in  our  State  required  that  they  should  be  published  at 
least  three  times,  on  as  many  different  occasions,  before  they  could 
be  legally  married. 

The  next  morning,  Mr.  Poe  manifested  and  expressed  the  most 
profound  contrition  and  regret,  and  was  profuse  in  his  promises  of 
amendment.  He  was  still  urgently  anxious  that  the  marriage 
should  take  place  before  he  left  the  city. 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         301 

That  very  morning  he  wrote  a  note  to  Dr.  Crocker,  requesting 
him  to  pubh'sh  the  intended  marriage  at  the  earliest  opportunity, 
and  intrusted  this  note  to  me,  with  the  request  that  I  should  make 
oath  to  it,  if  necessary:  You  will  perceive,  therefore,  that  I  did 
not  write  unadvisedly  in  the  statement  published  in  the  Tribune. 

For  yourself,  Mr.  Griswold,  I  entertain  none  other  than  the  kind- 
est feelings.  I  was  not  surprised  that  you  should  have  believed 
those  rumors  in  regard  to  Poe  and  his  engagement ;  and  although, 
from  a  regard  for  the  feelings  of  the  lady,  I  do  not  think  that  a 
belief  in  their  truth  could  possibly  justify  their  publication,  yet  I 
was  not  disposed  to  impute  to  you  any  wrong  motive  in  presenting 
them  to  the  public.  I  supposed  rather  that,  in  the  hurry  of  publi- 
cation and  in  the  multiplicity  of  your  avocations,  you  had  not  given 
each  statement  that  precise  consideration  which  less  haste  and  more 
leisure  would  have  permitted.  I  was  thus  easily  led  to  believe, 
from  Mrs.  H.'s  letter,  that  upon  being  assured  of  their  incor- 
rectness, and  upon  learning  how  exceedingly  painful  they  were  to 
the  feelings  of  the  surviving  party,  you  sincerely  regretted  their 
publication.  I  would  fain  hope  so  still. 

In  my  article  in  the  Tribune,  I  endeavored  to  palliate  their  pub- 
lication on  your  part,  and  to  say  everything  in  your  extenuation 
that  was  consistent  with  the  demands  of  truth  and  justice  to  the 
parties  concerned.  I  would  add,  in  regard  to  Poe's  intoxication 
on  the  evening  above  alluded  to,  that  to  all  appearances  it  was  as 
purely  accidental  and  unpremeditated  as  any  similar  act  of  his  life. 
By  what  species  of  logic  any  one  should  infer  that  in  this  particu- 
lar instance  it  was  the  result  of  a  malicious  purpose  and  deliberate 
design,  I  have  never  been  able  to  conceive.  The  facts  of  the  case 
and  his  subsequent  conduct  prove  beyond  a  doubt  that  he  had  no 
such  design. 

With  great  respect, 

Your  obedient  servant, 
REV.  RUFUS  W.  GRISWOLD.  WILLIAM  J.  PABODIE. 


302  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

It  will  be  seen  by  this  correspondence  that  the  attempt  of 
Dr.  Griswold  to  browbeat  Mr.  Pabodie  was  courteously  but 
firmly  and  unanswerably  met.  Dr.  Griswold  never  paid  the 
slightest  attention  to  this  letter,  contenting  himself  with  leaving 
on  record  the  outrageous  scandal  that  has  since  obtained  an 
almost  unprecedented  -circulation  in  the  numerous  memoirs  of 
Poe,  based  upon  Dr.  Griswold's  malicious  invention,  that  have 
been  published.  The  introduction  of  the  story  of  the  banns 
would  seem  to  come  under  the  head  of  what  lawyers  call  "  an 
accessory  after  the  fact."  Dr.  Griswold  had  probably  heard 
that  the  banns  were  written,  if  not  published,  and  took  advan- 
tage of  this  information  to  adroitly  garnish  his  story  with  them. 
To  set  this  question  at  rest  forever,  I  have  obtained  permis- 
sion to  quote  the  following  passages  of  a  letter  received  from 
Mrs.  Whitman  in  August,  1873:  — 

"No  such  scene  as  that  described  by  Dr.  Griswold  ever  trans- 
pired in  my  presence.  No  one,  certainly  no  woman,  who  had  the 
slightest  acquaintance  with  Edgar  Poe,  could  have  credited  the 
story  for  an  instant.  He  was  essentially  and  instinctively  a  gentle- 
man, utterly  incapable,  even  in  moments  of  excitement  and  delirium, 
of  such  an  outrage  as  Dr.  Griswold  has  ascribed  to  him.  No  au- 
thentic anecdote  of  coarse  indulgence  in  vulgar  orgies  or  bestial 
riot  has  ever  been  recorded  of  him.  During  the  last  years  of  his 
unhappy  life,  whenever  he  yielded  to  the  temptation  that  was  draw- 
ing him  into  its  fathomless  abyss,  as  with  the  resistless  swirl  of  the 
maelstrom,  he  always  lost  himself  in  sublime  rhapsodies  on  the 
evolution  of  the  universe,  speaking  as  from  some  imaginary  plat- 
form to  vast  audiences  of  rapt  and  attentive  listeners.  During  one 
of  his  visits  to  this  city,  in  the  autumn  of  1848,*  I  once  saw  him, 

*  This  visit  is  the  identical  one  mentioned  by  Griswold  as  the  occasion  of 
the  alleged  outrage. 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         303 

after  one  of  those  nights  of  wild  excitement,  before  reason  had 
fully  recovered  its  throne.  Yet  even  then,  in  those  frenzied  mo- 
ments when  the  doors  of  the  mind's  '  Haunted  Palace '  were  left 
all  unguarded,  his  words  were  the  words  of  a  princely  intellect, 
overwrought,  and  of  a  heart  only  too  sensitive  and  too  finely 
strung.  I  repeat  that  no  one  acquainted  with  Edgar  Poe  could 
have  given  Dr.  Griswold's  scandalous  anecdote  a  moment's  cre- 
dence. 

"  Yours,  etc., 

"S.   H.   WHITMAN" 

In  regard  to  Mr.  Griswold's  professed  friendship  for  Poe, 
which  he  endeavors  to  demonstrate  in  copies  of  a  correspond- 
ence which  I  cannot  refrain  from  thinking  was  extensively 
"doctored"  by  the  doctor,  to  suit  his  purpose,  I  am  able  to 
present  an  extract  from  an  autograph  letter  of  Dr.  Griswold 
written  to  Mrs.  Whitman  in  1849. 

The  object  of  this  was  evidently  to  cool  Mrs.  Whitman's 
friendship  for  Mrs.  Clemm,  thus  preventing  their  further  inti- 
macy. This  was  desirable  to  Dr.  Griswold  for  evident  rea- 
sons. 

NEW  YORK,  December  17,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  WHITMAN,  —  I  have  been  two  or  three  weeks  in 
Philadelphia  attending  to  the  remains  which  a  recent  fire  left  of  my 
library  and  furniture,  and  so  did  not  receive  your  interesting  letter 
in  regard  to  our  departed  acquaintance  until  to-day ;  I  wrote,  as  you 
suppose,  the  notice  of  Poe  in  the  Tribune,  but  very  hastily. 

I  was  not  his  friend,  nor  was  he  mine,  as  I  remember  to 
have  told  you.  I  undertook  to  edit  his  writings,  to  oblige  Mrs. 
Clemm,  and  they  will  soon  be  published  in  two  thick  volumes,  of 
which  a  copy  shall  be  sent  to  you.  I  saw  very  little  of  Poe  in  his 
last  years I  cannot  refrain  from  begging  you  to  be  very 


304  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

careful  what  you  say  or  write  to  Mrs.  Clemm,  who  is  not  your 
friend,  nor  anybody's  friend,  and  who  has  no  element  of  goodness 
or  kindness  in  her  nature,  but  whose  whole  heart  and  understand- 
ing are  full  of  malice  and  wickedness.  /  confide  in  you  these  sen- 
tences for  your  own  sake  only,  for  Mrs.  C.  appears  to  be  a  very 
warm  friend  to  me.  Pray  destroy  this  note,  and,  at  least,  act  cau- 
tiously, till  I  may  justify  it  in  a  conversation  with  you. 
I  am,  yours  very  sincerely, 

RUFUS   W.   GRISWOLD. 

This  brief  note  affords  a  tolerably  good  specimen  of  the 
utter  duplicity  of  the  man.  In  his  printed  memoir  of  Poe, 
he  quotes  a  correspondence  indicating  professed  friendship ; 
in  private,  he  squarely  owns  that  no  friendship  ever  existed 
between  Poe  and  himself. 

He  writes  that  Mrs.  Clemm  is  a  friend  to  no  one,  and  stig- 
matizes her  character,  and  in  the  same  breath  speaks  of  her 
warm  friendship  for  him. 

Had  Griswold  lived  in  Othello's  time,  no  one  could  have 
disputed  with  him  the  position  of  "mine  ancient,"  honest  lago. 

From  a  correspondence  from  Mrs.  Clemm,  who,  there  can 
be  no  reasonable  doubt,  is  correctly  described  by  Willis  as 
"one  of  those  angels  upon  earth  that  women  in  adversity  can 
be,"  we  find  the  most  positive  testimony  that  Dr.  Griswold's 
association  with  collecting  the  works  of  Poe,  and  of  writing  a 
memoir  of  the  author,  was  purely  voluntary  and  speculative. 

It  presents  simply  the  fact  of  a  designing  and  unscrupulous 
man,  prompted  by  hatred  and  greed  of  gain,  taking  advantage 
of  a  helpless  woman,  unaccustomed  to  business,  to  defraud 
her  of  her  rights,  and  gratify  his  malice  and  his  avarice  at 
her  expense. 


EDGAR    A.    POE    AND    HIS    BIOGRAPHER.         305 

A  miserable  pittance  having  been  given  to  Mrs.  Clemm  in 
exchange  for  Poe's  private  papers,  Dr.  Griswold  draws  up  a 
paper  for  Mrs.  Clemm  to  sign,  announcing  his  appointment 
as  Poe's  literary  executor,  not  omitting  of  course  a  touching 
allusion  to  himself.  This  is  duly  signed  by  Mrs.  Clemm,  and 
printed  over  her  signature  in  the  published  editions  of  Poe's 
works.  But  if  the  wording  of  this  curious  paper  be  carefully 
observed,  it  will  be  noted  that  nothing  whatever  is  said  in  it 
of  any  request  by  Poe  that  Dr.  Griswold  should  write  a 
memoir  of  his  life.  This  duty  was  properly  assigned  to  Mr. 
Willis,  —  of  all  men,  familiar  with  the  subject,  the  most  com- 
petent to  fulfil  such  a  task,  —  and  his  tender  and  manly  tribute 
to  the  stricken  genius  was  all  that  could  have  been  wished,  all 
that  the  world  called  for. 

Mrs.  Clemm  had  no  idea,  at  the  time  she  signed  the  paper 
which  she  scarcely  understood,  that  Dr.  Griswold  had  any 
intention  of  supplementing  Mr.  Willis's  obituary  with  any 
memoir  by  his  own  pen.  It  was  a  piece  of  gratuitous  malice, 
—  the  act  of  a  fiend  exulting  over  a  dead  and  helpless  victim. 

The  tone  of  Poe's  critique  of  Griswold,  in  his  review  of 
the  "Poets  and  Poetry  of  America,"  which  unquestionably 
inspired  the  reverend  doctor's  malignant  hatred,  scathing  as 
it  is,  will  impress  the  reader  with  its  outspoken  manliness  and 
integrity  of  purpose.  What  a  contrast  to  the  biography  that, 
while  undermining  the  very  foundations  of  Poe's  moral  and 
social  character,  yet  hypocritically  professes  to  be  dictated 
by  friendship,  and  written  in  a  generous  spirit !  I  fear  that 
Dr.  Griswold's  precious  specimen  of  his  generosity  will  go 
on  record  in  the  history  of  literature  as  an  everlasting  mon- 
ument of  his  despicable  meanness  ! 


306  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Dr.  Griswold  was,  take  him  all  in  all,  about  as  well  fitted 
to  be  Poe's  biographer,  as  Mr.  Preston  Brooks  would  have 
been  to  have  written  an  impartial  life  of  Charles  Sumner. 
And,  indeed,  whenever  it  becomes  possible  'for  a  Rufus  W. 
Griswold  to  write  a  true  transcript  of  the  life  of  an  Edgar  A. 
Poe,  then  will  perpetual  motion  have  become  possible,  the 
world  will  find  it  easy  and  comfortable  to  arrest  its  revolu- 
tions at  pleasure,  and  balloon  voyages  to  the  planets  will  be- 
come as  popular  and  as  practicable,  as  is  a  trip  to  Saratoga 
at  the  present  day. 


LETHE. 


LETHE. 


BY  C.   McK.   LEOSER. 

'ERBORNE  with  carking  grief  and  weary  weight 

of  sin, 

Yearneth  the  patient  Christian  for  the  time 
When,  to  the  ringing  seraph-song  sublime, 
Falleth  the  load,  and  proud  he  entereth  in, 
Escaped  the  world's  annoy  and  Satan's  gin ; 
And,  fain  to  leave  the  worn  and  tasteless  joys, 
And  all  the  bitter  glare  and  hollow  noise, 
Seeth  his  everlasting  life  begin. 
So  toward  thee,  Lotos,  home  to  sweet  souls  given, 
The  outworn  toiler  in  the  muck  of  trade, 
Or  where  the  opinion  of  the  public  's  made, 
Turns  at  the  hour  to  which  his  thought  has  striven  ; 

Then,  the  dull  burden  from  his  shoulders  laid, 
Forgets  his  care  in  thee,  thou  gentler  earthly  Heaven. 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  THE  FISHES. 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  THE  FISHES. 

BY    ROBERT    R.    ROOSEVELT. 

rN  these  modern  days  the  public  affects  a  taste  for 
sporting.  Whether  in  imitation  of  the  recreations 
of  the  aristocratic  and  leisure-loving  nations  of  the 
Old  World,  or  impelled  by  an  increase  of  sedentary 
occupations  among  ourselves,  Americans  are  given 
more  and  more  to  spending  their  holidays  in  the  chase  of 
beast,  bird,  or  fish.  In  the  spring,  as  soon  as  the  frost  lets 
go  its  grip  of  the  waters,  the  young  New-Yorker's  fancy 
lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  visiting  the  trout-ponds  of  Long 
Island,  —  the  Mattowacs  of  the  jovial  J.  Cypress,  Jr.,  of  glori- 
ous memory  ;  the  sportsman's  Paradise  of  the  more  senten- 
tious and  didactic  Frank  Forester,  —  where  trout  are  "  frighted 
from  their  natural  propriety  "  by  many  strange  devices  in  the 
way  of  fishing-tackle.  During  the  summer  the  effectual  fires 
of  that  hottest  of  resorts,  Saratoga,  pale  before  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  Adirondacks,  and  our  deluded  men  about  town 
exchange  the  miseries  of  stifling  nights  and  villanous  aperients 
for  the  tortures  of  merciless  black  gnats  and  tunefully  tri- 
umphant mosquitoes.  And  in  the  fall  the  knights  of  the 
quill  and  yard-stick  drag  their  unaccustomed  limbs  over 
"  stony  limits "  and  through  meadowy  morasses  in  an  imagi- 
nary devotion  to  sportsmanship,  and  a  praiseworthy,  if  un- 


3H  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

rewarded,  pursuit  of  quail.  Diana  is  worshipped  even  more 
assiduously  than  Venus,  whose  longest  trains  and  biggest 
chignons  are  not  as  alluring  as  a  lively  trout-brook,  a  lovely 
snipe-bog,  or  a  stand  on  the  bass  rocks  by  the  "  sounding 
sea."  All  this  is  healthful,  and  promises  well  for  the  "millions 
yet  to  be "  on  this  continent,  of  whom  it  will  be  said,  — 

"They  can  jump,  and  they  can  run, 
Catch  the  wild  goat  by  the  hair,  €nd  hurl  their  lances  in  the  sun." 

Metaphorically,  of  course,  as  the  only  goats  worth  catch- 
ing—  reference  clearly  not  being  intended  by  the  poet  to  the 
docile  creatures  that  roam  about  the  shanties  of  Goat  Town, 
and  alternate  their  diet  between  old  hats  and  bits  of  paper  — 
are  those  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  who  are  not  given  to  letting 
themselves  be  caught  in  their  inaccessible  fastnesses  even  by 
the  most  agile  hunter  of  the  liveliest  poetical  imagination  ; 
while  the  discovery  of  gunpowder  has  converted  the  roman- 
tic lance  into  the  prosaic,  but  game-compelling,  breech-loading 
rifle  or  shot-gun. 

Fortunate  as  is  this  change,  and  promising,  as  it  does,  an 
immense  increase  of  muscular  Christianity,  it  has  its  defects, 
and  of  course  it  inflicts  much  suffering  by  compelling  the  ex- 
perienced sportsman  to  listen  to  the  puerilities  of  the  begin- 
ner,—  the  skilful  angler  to  have  his  soul  harrowed  up  by 
being  asked  about  the  virtues  of  a  fishing/^,  or  graciously 
informed  of  the  special  attractions  of  some  favorite  tail  fly, 
till  he  feels  his  "torture  should  be  roared  in  dismal  hell,"  —  or 
the  accomplished  shot  to  be  assured  by  some  bungler  that  a 
muzzle-loader  "  shoots  stronger  than  a  breech-loader "  ;  but, 
trying  as  these  are,  they  are  not  the  only  points  to  be  con- 
demned. The  system  itself  is  wrong.  At  present  there  are 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    THE    FISHES.  315 

but  two  classes  in  the  community  who  consider  game  at  all ; 
one  of  these  regards  it  simply  as  something  to  be  eaten,  the 
other  looks  upon  it  solely  as  something  to  be  killed.  The 
first  may  be  dismissed  with  scarce  a  word,  as  utterly  beneath 
the  contempt  of  well-regulated  minds :  for  it  has  been  the 
proper  thing  to  condemn  indulgences  of  the  stomach  from 
the  days  of  the  dishes  of  peacock's  tongues  to  the  times  of 
pates  de  foie  gms ;  and  the  latter  class  alone  is  worthy  of  our 
tender  care  and  wise  advice.  These  individuals,  these  sports- 
men, as  they  call  themselves,  vainly  consider  they  have  at- 
tained their  ends  when  they  have  had  a  good  day's  sport, 
when  they  have  filled  their  bags  or  their  creels,  when  they  have 
drunk  deep  draughts  of  the  breath  of  the  morning  and  feasted 
their  eyes  on  the  pictures  drawn  by  Nature's  golden  pencil, 
when  they  have  cast  the  fly  delicately  and  accurately,  when 
they  have  tossed  the  bass-bait  into  the  combing  crest  of  the 
outermost  breaker,  or  when  they  have  shot  straight  and  "  held 
true."  Poor  fools,  they  have  put  their  happiness  into  a  con- 
densed pill,  and  swallowed  it  up  at  a  gulp ;  they  have  had 
but  a  moment's  pleasure  in  what  should  have  been  "  linked 
sweetness  long  drawn  out."  In  their  "  dull,  untutored  minds " 
they  never  dreamed  of  what  a  "  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy 
forever"  a  fish  qould  be  made,  and  only  used  him  in  the  last 
stage  of  his  existence,  and,  by  opposing,  ended  him.  They 
thought  only  of  the  trout  that  were  in  the  brook  or  the  bass 
that  were  in  the  sea,  wished  that  there  were  more,  but  never 
speculated  how  they  came  there.  At  this  point  science  and 
morality  alike  come  in  and  say,  "What  thoti  sowest,  that  shalt 
thou  also  reap ;  if  thou  wouldst  have  fish,  fish  must  thou 
even  plant,  precisely  as  thou  plantest  corn  ;  if  thou  wantest 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 

whiskey  and  beans,  if  thou  desirest  soup,  how  canst  thou 
expect  a  crop  when  thou  art  always  harvesting  and  never 
planting  ? 

It  may  not  seem  romantic  to  grow  game  for  pursuit,  as  a 
market-man  raises  beef  for  the  table ;  and  the  fisherman  might 
imagine  he  was  being  degraded  into  a  fishman  ;  but  the 
sporting  pleasures  of  modern  times  must  be  tempered  by  the 
influences  of  scientific  discoveries,  or  our  utilitarian  age,  with 
its  proud  nets  and  its  improved  weapons,  will  sweep  them  out 
of  existence.  It  is  true  that  a  " glorious  nibble"  may  reward 
the  sublimated  angler,  living  in  the  highest  heaven  of  his 
art,  for  a  day  of  patience,  but  the  rest  of  mankind  would  like 
a  rise  or  a  bite  now  and  then,  just  for  variety. 

The  delights  of  a  day  on  Long  Island  are  not  to  be  de- 
nied, but  they  are  different  from  what  they  once  were.  In 
former  days,  when  the  genial  and  brilliant  J.  Cypress,  Jr.,  vis- 
ited Raccoon  Beach  —  now  misnamed  Fire  Island  —  to  kill 
ducks,  and  his  friend,  Ned  Loftus,  cast  a  fly  so  "  far  and  deli- 
cately and  suspendedly  "  that  it  took  wings  and  flew  away,  ducks 
and  snipe  were  so  abundant  that  you  did  not  have  to  whistle, 
and  they  came  to  you,  my  lad,  and  you  could  cast  your  lines 
into  any  brook  with  a  full  and  abiding  faith  that  trout  were 
there  to  see.  Now,  the  Madeira  is  good, —yea,  verily,  we 
know  whereof  we  speak,  —  and  the  sherry  came  over  before 
any  other  emigrant,  and  the  champagne  flows  in  a  never- 
ending  stream  ;  but  the  preserves  are  bare  of  fish,  and  the 
gentle  angler  has  to  trust  to  a  French  cook  to  fill  his  stom- 
ach, that  should  be  cloyed  with  trout. 

Nor  is  this  the  fault  of  the  fish  ;  the  finny  tribe  are  not 
to  blame  ;  they  are  willing  to  do  their  part.  A  trout  lays 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    THE    FISHES.  317 

ten  thousand  eggs  ;  imagine  such  a  reckless  amount  of  ma- 
ternity !  Ten  thousand  eggs,  ten  thousand  fry,  ten  thousand 
fingerlings,  ten  thousand  "speckled  beauties,"  in  their  well- 
rounded  proportions  ;  ten  thousand  atoms  of  fishing  happiness. 
Nurse  the  little  ones,  teach  them  to  play  at  hide-and-seek 
when  their  natural  enemies  are  about,  protect  them  from  evil 
associates,  warn  them  against  wicked  ways,  and  keep  their 
fins  from  the  paths  that  lead  down  to  death,  and  they  will 
crowd  the  waters,  stock  all  the  preserves,  and,  lifting  up  their 
voices,  beg  to  be  caught.  An  Englishman  was  once  invited 
to  visit  a  friend,  who  allured  him  to  the  country  under  the 
pretence  of  having  a  fine  carp  pond,  whereas  he  had  only 
brought  fifty  fish,  thinking  that  enough  for  a  week's  sport, 
and  turned  them  loose  a  few  days  previously.  Conceive  the 
host's  horror  when  his  sporting  friend  caught  forty-seven  the 
first  morning,  before  breakfast.  In  American  preserves,  eti- 
quette requires  the  fisherman  to  return  to  the  water  the  trout 
that  he  catches,  that  he  may  catch  them  over  again,  or  leave 
them  to  the  next  guest.  But  if  the  sportsman  insists  that  there 
is  no  great  enjoyment  in  raising  fish,  and  that  he  would  rather 
hoe  corn  and  dig  potatoes  for  amusement,  not  to  speak  of 
profit,  he  should  console  himself  with  the  recollection  of  the 
benefit  he  confers  on  society,  of  the  addition  he  makes  to 
the  supply  of  fish  food,  that  monument  of  the  brain,  that 
restorative  of  the  machine-shop  of  ideas,  that  fertilizer  of  in- 
telligence, which  the  students  of  man's  body  affirm  it  to  be. 
He  should  contemplate  the  advance  to  be  effected  in  the 
human  race  when  the  intellect  is  developed  by  unlimited 
condiment.  Though  the  fisherman  be  a  member  of  the  Lotos, 
and  may  think,  from  his  surroundings,  that  a  development  of 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 

brain  is  not  necessary,  he  should  still  have  pity  and  consid- 
eration for  the  benighted  world  outside  the  gifted  few,  and 
help  the  common  mind  into  a  higher  sphere  of  development. 
Therefore,  whether  the  fisherman  be  a  philanthropist,  a  sports- 
man, or  even  a  member  of  the  Lotos,  he  should  allow  no 
blind  ideas  of  present  recreation  to  keep  him  from  a  duty  he 
owes  mankind,  and  should  not  presume  to  wield  the  rod  till 
he  has  worked  the  breeding- trough. 

Suppose  there  are  ten  thousand  sportsmen,  and  each  should 
supervise  the  incubation  of  but  one  pair  of  fish,  raising  ten 
thousand  young,  and  every  pair  of  those  young  should  subse- 
quently raise  their  ten  thousand,  it  would  require  a  syndicate 
or  statistician  to  compute  the  result.  The  lakes  and  rivers 
and  the  ocean  itself  would  become  crammed  with  fish,  till  the 
traveller  could  make  the  voyage  to  Europe  dry-shod  on  their 
backs  ;  ships  would  get  fish-bound,  and  have  to  be  cut  out  ; 
mankind  would  have  to  go  without  washing,  and  drink  whiskey, 
to  allow  the  fish  sufficient  water;  and  such  a  millennium  of 
sportsmanship  would  have  arrived  as  was  never  dreamed  of 
in  the  wildest  reaches  of  sporting  philosophy.  Then  there 
would  be  no  empty  creels,  no  blank  days,  none  of  those 
perverse  hours  when  trout  will  not  rise,  and  none  of  those 
painfully  insinuating  questions,  when  the  sportsman  at  last 
returns  with  a  goodly  mess,  as  to  where  he  bought  them 
and  how  much  he  paid  for  them.  The  jeers  of  the  unbeliev- 
ing would  then  be  in  vain,  and  the  hearts  of  the  best  of 
the  human  species  would  be  made  happy  by  the  miraculous 
reproductiveness  of  fishes. 


THE  LOTOS-EATERS. 


THE   LOTOS-EATERS.* 

BY    ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

OUR  AGE  !"  he  said,  and  pointed  toward  the  land, 
"  This  mounting  wave  will  roll  us  shoreward  soon." 
In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land, 
In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon. 
All  round  the  coast  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 

Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream. 

Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon  ; 

And  like  a  downward  smoke,  the  slender  stream 

Along  the  cliff  to  fall  and  pause  and  fall  did  seem. 

A  land  of  streams  !   some,  like  a  downward  smoke, 

Slow-dropping  veils  of  thinnest  lawn,  did  go  ; 

And  some  thro'  wavering  lights  and  shadows  broke, 

Rolling  a  slumbrous  sheet  of  foam  below. 

They  saw  the  gleaming  river  seaward  flow 

From  the  inner  land:  far  off,  three  mountain-tops, 

Three  silent  pinnacles  of  aged  snow, 

Stood  sunset-flush'd  :   and,  dew'd  with  showery  drops, 

Up-clomb  the  shadowy  pine  above  the  woven  copse. 

*  This  poem  is  the  only  article  in  the  volume  not  written  by  a  member  of  the 
Lotos  Club.  It  is  inserted  for  the  reason  that  it  suggested  the  name  of  the  Club, 
and  in  acknowledgment  of  Mr.  Tennyson's  acceptance  of  the  dedication.  —  EDS. 


322  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

The  charmed  sunset  linger'd  low  adown 

In  the  red  West :   thro'  mountain  clefts  the  dale 

Was  seen  far  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 

Border'd  with  palm,  and  many  a  winding  vale 

And  meadow,  set  with  slender  galingale  ; 

A  land  where  all  things  always  seem'd  the  same! 

And  round  about  tne  keel  with  faces  pale, 

Dark  faces  pale  against  that  rosy  flame, 

The  mild-eyed  melancholy  Lotos-eaters  came. 

Branches  they  bore  of  that  enchanted  stem, 

Laden  with  flower  and  fruit,  whereof  they  gave 

To  each,  but  whoso  did  receive  of  them, 

And  taste,  to'  him  the  gushing  of  the  wave 

Far,  far  away  did  seem  to  mourn  and  rave 

On  alien  shores  ;    and  if  his  fellow  spake, 

His  voice  was  thin,  as  voices  from  the  grave ; 

And  deep-asleep  he  seem'd,  yet  all  awake, 

And  music  in  his  ears  his  beating  heart  did  make. 

They  sat  them  down  upon  the  yellow  sand, 
Between  the  sun  and  moon  upon  the  shore ; 
And  sweet  it  was  to  dream  of  Fatherland, 
Of  child,  and  wife,  and  slave  ;    but  evermore 
Most  weary  seem'd  the  sea,  weary  the  oar, 
Weary  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam. 
Then  some  one  said,  "  We  will  return  no  more " ; 
And  all  at  once  they  sang,  "  Our  island  home 
Is  far  beyond  the  wave  ;   we  will  no  longer  roam." 


THE    LOTOS-EATERS.  323 

1 

CHORIC   SONG. 
I. 

THERE  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 

Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass, 

Or  night-dews  on  still  waters  between  walls 

Of  shadowy  granite,  in  a  gleaming  pass  ; 

Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies, 

Than  tir'd  eyelids  upon  tir'd  eyes  ; 

Music  that  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the  blissful  skies. 

Here  are  cool  mosses  deep, 

And  thro'  the  moss  the  ivies  creep, 

And  in  the  stream  the  long-leaved  flowers  weep, 

And  from  the  craggy  ledge  the  poppy  hangs  in  sleep. 


2. 

Why  are  we  weigh'd  upon  with  heaviness, 

And  utterly  consumed  with  sharp  distress, 

While  all  things  else  have  rest  from  weariness  ? 

All  things  have  rest :   why  should  we  toil  alone  ? 

We  only  toil,  who  are  the  first  of  things, 

And  make  perpetual  moan, 

Still  from  one  sorrow  to  another  thrown  : 

Nor  ever  fold  our  wings, 

And  cease  from  wanderings, 

Nor  'steep  our  brows  in  slumber's  holy  balm  ; 

Nor  hearken  what  the  inner  spirit  sings, 

"There  is  no  joy  but  calm!" 

Why  should  we  only  toil,  the  roof  and  crown  of  things  ? 


324  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

•• 

3- 

Lo !    in  the  middle  of  the  wood, 
The  folded  leaf  is  woo'd  from  out  the  bud 
With  winds  upon  the  branch,  and  there 
Grows  green  and  broad,  and  takes  no  care, 
Sun-steep'd  at  noon,  and  in  the  moon 
Nightly  dew-fed  ;    and  turning  yellow 
Falls,  and  floats  adown  the  air. 
Lo !    sweeten'd  with  the  summer  light, 
The  full-juiced  apple,  waxing  over-mellow, 
Drops  in  a  silent  autumn  night. 
All  its  allotted  length  of  days, 
The  flower  ripens  in  its  place, 
Ripens  and  fades,  and  falls,  and  hath  no  toil, 
Fast-rooted  in  the  fruitful  soil. 


4- 

Hateful  is  the  dark-blue  sky, 
Vaulted  o'er  the  dark-blue  sea. 
Death  is  the  end  of  life  ;   ah,  why 
Should  life  all  labor  be  ? 
Let  us  alone,-    Time  driveth  onward  fast, 
And  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb. 
Let  us  alone.     What  is  it  that  will  last  ? 
All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become 
Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past. 
Let  us  alone.     What  pleasure  can  we  have 
To  war  with  evil  ?     Is  there  any  peace 


THE    LOTOS-EATERS.  325 

In  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave  ? 

All  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave 

In  silence  ;   ripen,  fall  and  cease  : 

Give  us  long  rest  or  death,  dark  death,  or  dreamful  ease. 


5- 

How  sweet  it  were,  hearing  the  downward  stream, 
With  half-shut  eyes  ever  to  seem 
Falling  asleep  in  a  half-dream  ! 
To  dream  and  dream,  like  yonder  amber  light, 
Which  will  not  leave  the  myrrh-bush  on  the  height  ; 
To  hear  each  other's  whisper'd  speech  ; 
Eating  the  Lotos  day  by  day, 
To  watch  the  crisping  ripples  on  the  beach, 
And  tender  curving  lines  of  creamy  spray  ; 
To  lend  our  hearts  and  spirits  wholly 
To  the  influence  of  mild-minded  melancholy  ; 
To  muse  and  brood  and  live  again  in  memory, 
With  those  old  faces  of  our  infancy 
Heap'd  over  with  a  mound  of  grass, 
Two  handfuls  of  white  dust,  shut  in  an  urn  of  brass  ! 


6. 

Dear  is  the  memory  of  our  wedded  lives, 

And  dear  the  last  embraces  of  our  wives 

And  their  warm  tears  ;  but  all  hath  suffer'd  change  ; 

For  surely  now  our  household  hearths  are  cold  : 

Our  sons  inherit  us  :  our  looks  are  strange  : 


326  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

And  we  should  come  like  ghosts  to  trouble  joy. 

Or  else  the  island  princes  over-bold 

Have  eat  our  substance,  and  the  minstrel  sings 

Before  them  of  the  ten  years'  war  in  Troy, 

And  our  great  deeds,  as  half-forgotten  things. 

Is  there  confusion  in  the  little  isle  ? 

Let  what  is  broken  so  remain. 

The  Gods  are  hard  to  reconcile : 

'T  is  hard  to  settle  order  once  again. 

There  is  confusion  worse  than  death, 

Trouble  on  trouble,  pain  on  pain, 

Long  labor  unto  aged  breath, 

Sore  task  to  hearts  worn  out  by  many  wars 

And  eyes  grown  dim  with  gazing  on  the  pilot-stars. 


7- 

But,  propt  on  beds  of  amaranth  and  moly, 
How  sweet  (while  warm  airs  lull  us,  blowing  lowly) 
With  half-dropt  eyelids  still, 
Beneath  a  heaven  dark  and  holy, 
To  watch  the  long  bright  river  drawing  slowly 
His  waters  from  the  purple  hill,  — 
To  hear  the  dewy  echoes  calling 
From  cave  to  cave  thro'  the  thick-twined  vine, — 
To  watch  tfie  emerald-color'd  water  falling 
Thro'  many  a  wov'n  acanthus- wreath  divine  ! 
Only  to  hear  and  see  the  far-off  sparkling  brine, 
Only  to  hear  were  sweet,  stretch'd  out  beneath  the  pine. 


THE    LOTOS-EATERS.  327 

8 

The  Lotos  blooms  below  the  barren  peak  : 

The  Lotos  blows  by  every  winding  creek  : 

All  day  the  wind  breathes  low  with  mellower  tone  : 

Thro'  every  hollow  cave  and  alley  lone 

Round  and   round  the   spicy  downs  the   yellow   Lotos-dust   is 

blown. 

We  have  had  enough  of  action,  and  of  motion  we, 
Roll'd   to   starboard,   roll'd   to   larboard,   when   the   surge   was 

seething  free, 
Where   the  wallowing   monster   spouted   his   foam-fountains  in 

the  sea. 

Let  us  swear  an  oath,  and  keep  it  with  an  equal  mind, 
In  the  hollow  Lotos-land  to  live  and  lie  reclined 
On  the  hills  like  Gods  together,  careless  of  mankind. 
For  they  lie  beside  their  nectar,  and  the  bolts  are  hurl'd 
Far  below  them   in   the   valleys,   and  the    clouds    are   lightly 

curl'd 

Round  their  golden  houses,  girdled  with  the  gleaming  world  : 
Where  they  smile  in  secret,  looking  over  wasted  lands, 
Blight  and  famine,  plague  and  earthquake,  roaring  deeps  and 

fiery  sands, 
Clanging  fights,   and   flaming  towns,   and   sinking   ships,  and 

praying  hands. 

But  they  smile,  they  find  a  music  centred  in  a  doleful  song 
Steaming  up,  a  lamentation  and  an  ancient  tale  of  wrong, 
Like  a  tale  of  little  meaning  tho'  the  words  are  strong ; 
Chanted  from  an  ill-used  race  of  men  that  cleave  the  soil, 
Sow  the  seed,  and  reap  the  harvest  with  enduring  toil, 


328  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Storing  yearly  little  dues  of  wheat,  and  wine  and  oil ; 

Till    they   perish    and   they   suffer  —  some,    't  is    whisper'd  — 

down  in  hell 

Suffer  endless  anguish,  others  in  Elysian  valleys  dwell, 
Resting  weary  limbs  at  last  on  beds  of  asphodel. 
Surely,  surely,  slumber  is  more  sweet  than  toil,  the  shore 
Than  labor  in  the  deep  mid-ocean,  wind  and  wave  and  oar  ; 
O  rest  ye,  brother  mariners,  we  will  not  wander  more. 


PLAYERS  IN  A  LARGE  DRAMA. 


PLAYERS  IN  A  LARGE  DRAMA. 

BY   I.    H.    BROMLEY. 

OUBTLESS  there  are  people  in  the  world 
who  coddle  themselves  with  the  idea  that 
they  are  utterly  and  absolutely  sincere  ; 
that  though  in  a  general  sense  it  may  be 
true  that  "all  the  world  's  a  stage  and  all  the  men  and 
women  merely  players,"  there  is  at  least  no  ringing  up  of 
curtains  or  strutting  before  the  footlights  in  their  own  pro- 
foundly earnest  lives.  Is  it  cynicism  to  dispute  them  in  their 
fond  delusion  ;  to  say  that  no  such  thing  is  possible  ;  that 
with  all  their  efforts  to  be  simple,  direct,  natural,  they  are 
forever  artificial,  —  artful  in  manner,  address,  features,  step, 
and  even  in  the  very  attitude  of  worship  and  the  diction  of 
prayer  ?  Art  wedded  Nature  on  that  bridal  morn  in  Para- 
dise when  our  Mother  saw  she  was  unclad,  and  plucked  her 
wardrobe  from  the  fig-tree  ;  and  there  has  been  neither  di- 
vorce nor  separation  since.  Then  began  costumes,  and  from 
the  fig-leaf  flowed  the  infinite  pageantry  of  soft  and  silken 
stuffs,  of  lace  and  muslin,  satins  and  embroideries,  with  which 
brides,  wives,  and  mothers  have  .come  rustling  down  to  us 
from  Paradise,  bringing  with  them,  with  all  their  "art  and 
artifice,  the  garden's  fragrance  and  the  garden's  light  and 
life  and  joy. 


332  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Since  the  exodus  from  Eden,  Nature  has  been  kept  in 
flower-pots  and  set  in  windows,  framed  behind  foot-lights, 
with  curtain  at  the  front  and  wings  at  the  sides,  pieced  out 
with  stove-pipe  hat  and  fringed  with  claw-hammer  coat,  sur- 
mounted and  crowned  with  the  chignon,  built  upon  with  the 
pannier,  and  draped  with  the  polonaise.  Art  and  artifice  and 
artfulness  and  all  things  artificial  came  in  with  the  curse, 
and  will  go  out  only  with  the  millennium.  This  is  the  trail  of 
the  serpent  over  us  all,  that  we  are  always  acting,  that  we  can 
never  be  utterly  sincere.  Is  it  a  hard  statement  ?  Do  you 
believe  that,  in  your  serious,  solemn  work  in  the  world,  there 
is  no  little  bell  to  ring  up  your  curtain,  no  audience  to  act 
before,  no  mimicries  nor  tricks  nor  deceptions,  nor  strutting 
back  and  forth,  nor  rolling  up  of  eyes,  nor  phrasing  of  sen- 
tences, nor  any  of  the  thousand  things  that  make  a  play  a 
play  ?  Have  you  ever  sat  before  a  camera  and  listened  to  the 
stereotyped  address  of  the  photographer,  "  Sit  easy  now,  and 
look  natural "  ?  Do  you  think  you  did  it  ?  There  are  easy- 
sitting,  natural-looking  Matilda  Janes  and  Charles  Augus- 
tuses enough  hanging  on  walls  and  shut  up  in  albums  to 
girdle  this  round  globe  with  such  a  belt  of  ghastly  caricature 
as  would  haunt  the  day  with  fearful  visions,  and  distort  our 
dreams  with  nightmares ;  and  every  mother's  Matilda  Jane 
and  Charles  Augustus  of  them  all,  though  they  sat  cramped 
and  gasping  before  the  portrait-painting  sun,  thought  it  was 
nature,  and  that  they  were  altogether  sincere  ;  and  even  when 
they  rose  from  their  constrained  ease  and  unnatural  natural- 
ness, and  stretched  themselves  with  weariness,  never  dreamed 
they  had  been  fooling  themselves  while  they  tried  to  fool  the 
sun.  Let  us  be  frank  about  it,  for  we  are  all  together  in  it ; 


PLAYERS    IN    A    LARGE    DRAMA.  333 

who  is  there  that  has  not  some  time  sat  with  folded  hands 
and  vacant  stare  before  the  dreadful  camera? 

Some  one  not  long  ago  defined  a  "bore"  to  be  "a  person 
who  persists  in  talking  about  himself  when  you  want  to  be 
talking  about  yourself."  The  readiness  with  which  the  news- 
papers—  most  of  which,  I  may  be  permitted  to  say,  know  a 
good  thing  when  they  see  it  —  snapped  up  the  definition,  and 
the  general  acceptance  of  it  as  a  crisp,  bright  truth,  were 
proof  enough  that  to  the  average  man  it  came  as  a  sort  of 
revelation.  Men  who  had  encountered  bores,  and  been  an- 
noyed by  them,  did  not  know  that  the  difference  between 
themselves  and  the  bore  was  only  in  opportunity,  —  did  not 
know,  indeed,  that  they  were  bored  by  egotism  only  in  the 
degree  in  which  it  hindered  them  from  being  egotistical  them- 
selves. But  this  touchstone  of  some  quaint  philosopher  re- 
vealed themselves  to  themselves  in  such  manner  as  to  raise 
a  smile  at  their  own  absurdity.  We  do  not  know  how  ab- 
solutely selfish  we  are  till  some  such  thing  uncovers  us  and 
shows  us  as  we  are,  —  acting  small  deceptions  to  ourselves 
with  no  audience  but  the  looking-glass.  We  are  hide-bound 
—  pachydermatous — with  egotism.  Largely  as  we  may  talk 
of  patriotism  and  its  sacrifices,  of  religion  and  its  tender 
offices,  of  humanity  and  universal  brotherhood,  we  are  all  so 
self-centered  that  we  never,  for  country,  church,  or  fellow-man, 
rise  above  ourselves  entirely  ;  our  wings  forever  touch  the 
ground,  and  the  highest  attainment  of  our  very  best  endeavor 
is  in  reaching  a  line  of  conduct  whose  motives  are  freest 
from  what  is  sordid,  mean,  and  base. 

There  are  several  thousand  men  who,  in  their  daily  walk 
down  Broadway,  for  at  least  half  a  block  before  they  reach 


334  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

the  full-length  mirrors  which  stand  for  a  sign  on  the  side- 
walk before  a  picture-dealer's  shop,  are  oppressed  with  anxiety 
lest  some  conceited  coxcomb  shall  get  between  them  and  the 
glass.  Not  one  of  them  believes  he  is  conceited  or  vain, 
and  not  one  of  them  but  thinks  the  man  in  front  who  obstructs 
the  glass  is  a  disgusting  puppy  who  has  not  the  sense  or  the 
modesty  to  keep  his  vanity  and  foppishness  from  public  sight. 
It's  a  long  procession  that  goes  daily  down  Broadway,  but  to 
these  reflections  concerning  the  brutal  stupidity  and  vanity 
of  the  person  in  front,  each  one  succeeds  as  naturally  and 
regularly  as  to  his  order  in  the  line  and  his  place  before 
the  glass.  What  a  world  of  mincing  and  smirking  and 
strutting  the  Broadway  mirrors  witness  every  day,  and  how 
many  thousand  times  a  day  is  the  question,  "  How  do  I 
look  ? "  put  to  them  by  men  who  would  actually  be  surprised 
should  they  catch  themselves  at  it!  Of  all  forms  of  selfish- 
ness, the  one  reckoned  most  contemptible,  fit  to  be  treated 
only  with  derision  and  jeers,  is  the  vanity  of  personal  beauty 
or  good  looks.  It  is  that  sort  of  self-engrossment  that  has 
hardly  body  enough  to  be  called  a  vice,  a  harmless  hollowness 
that  can  only  be  despised  or  pitied.  No  one  likes  to  confess 
to  this  weakness.  And  yet  everybody  knows  that  the  softest 
and  easiest  approach  to  everybody  else  can  always  be  reached 
by  judicious  and  not  overdone  allusions  to  personal  attractions. 

The  truth  is,  that  we  not  only  never  open  our  hearts  to 
each  other,  but  we  do  not  open  them  to  ourselves.  Shall  I 
say,  then,  that  in  our  moments  of  serenest  joy  or  or  our 
crises  of  supremest  need,  when,  helpless  and  hopeless,  we  lift 
our  weak  hands  upwards,  we  do  never  consciously  strip  our- 
selves bare  of  all  concealments  ?  Shall  I  say  that  before  God 


PLAYERS    IN    A    LARGE    DRAMA.  335 

we  are  in  some  sense  playing  parts,  and  that  if  he  reads  us, 
it  is  through  his  own  omniscience,  and  not  because  in  our 
most  secret  devotions  we  open  the  book  and  turn  its  pages 
before  him  ?  Abel's  altar  of  sacrifice,  Abraham's  memorial  of 
the  covenant,  Moses  receiving  the  law  behind  the  curtain 
of  cloud  in  the  wondrous  drama  of  Sinai,  the  ark  of  the  cov- 
enant, the  hangings  of  the  tabernacle,  the  paraphernalia  of  the 
temple,  the  priestly  garments  with  their  tinkling  bells,  the  cere- 
monial observances  and  the  grand  ritual  of  worship,  the  teach- 
ings of  allegory  and  parable,  the  stoled  and  surpliced  priests, 
the  chant  of  solemn  organ,  the  summons  of  church  bells,  the 
pulpit  vestments,  the  groined  arches  and  dimly  lighted  aisles, 
the  well-dressed  worshippers,  the  attitude  of  devotion,  the  rhyth- 
mic flow  of  praise,  and  the  choice  rhetoric  of  prayer,  attest 
through  all  the  ages  the  symbolism  by  which  alone  we  may 
approach  the  Uncreated.  In  our  worship  we  are  but  actors. 
As  individuals  we  act  to  ourselves  and  others  ;  as  nations 
and  aggregate  humanity  we  play  our  parts.  History  is  but  an 
acted  play,  and  human  progress  an  unwritten  drama.  It  is 
but  a  difference  in  degree  between  the  strutting  royalty  of  the 
boards  and  the  kingly  carriage  of  the  real  ruler.  Each  to  his 
audience.  Congresses  and  parliaments  are  but  the  "  people " 
of  the  stage,  sometimes  unravelling  and  sometimes  tangling 
the  plot,  burdened  always  with  a  sense  of  importance,  as  though 
they  were  making  the  play,  when  -in  fact  they  are  only  swept 
along  by  it.  The  great  events  of  history  have  always  been 
dramatic,  always  set  on  in  tableaux,  and  all  the  great  charac- 
ters of  the  world,  robber-kings,  regicides,  crusaders,  command- 
ers, heroes,  saints,  and  martyrs,  have  posed  themselves  in 
dreary  and  pitiful  self-consciousness  for  the  pen  of  the  his- 
torian or  pencil  of  the  artist. 


336  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

No  one  of  the  thousands  who  were  present  can  ever  forget 
the  dramatic  features  of  the  great  Chicago  Convention  of  1860. 
A  vast  auditorium  was  crowded  almost  to  suffocation  ;  upon 
the  great  stage  in  front  sat  delegates  from  all  the  Northern 
States,  while  in  the  center  the  representatives  of  the  press 
were  plying  busy  pencils.  A  party  that  had  never  been  in 
power,  and  had  no  strength  in  any  Southern  State,  was  in 
convention  to  nominate  a  President.  The  scene,  the  occa- 
sion, the  surroundings,  the  vast  multitudes  of  men,  and  the 
distinguished  actors  engaged,  were  all  combined  in  one  in- 
tensely dramatic  effect.  Some  of  the  most  earnest  and 
thoughtful  statesmen  in  the  country  were  there,  called  by  what 
they  deemed  a  momentous  crisis  to  act  together  for  the  coun- 
try and  for  humanity.  There  was  an  indescribable  something 
in  the  air  which  presaged  disturbance.  It  was  a  close,  oppres- 
sive atmosphere,  like  that  which  goes  before  the  wild  simoom. 
The  feeling  was  general  that  the  country  was  on  the  eve  of 
some  great  sweeping  change,  but  how  grand  were  the  possi- 
bilities, how  woful  the  sacrifices,  and  how  complete  the  re- 
generation that  lay  in  the  near  future,  the  wisest  had  not  dared 
to  dream.  The  curtain  was  ringing  up  on  the  first  act  of  a 
tremendous  drama,  and  these  were  the  players  ;  earnest  and 
serious,  yet  players.  Preliminaries  were  settled  and  organiza- 
tion effected,  and  the  Convention  came  to  its  work.  The 
audience  adjusted  itself,  the  army  of  reporters  sat  with  pen- 
cils poised,  the  telegraph-operators  handled  their  keys  ner- 
vously,—  the  roll-call  of  the  States  began.  Maine,  New 
Hampshire,  Vermont,  were  called,  and  as  if  they  were 
nothing  more  than  the  dead  numerals  of  a  process,  the  chair- 
man of  each  delegation  announced  the  scattered  votes.  The 


PLAYERS    IN    A    LARGE     DRAMA.  337 

Secretary  called  "  Massachusetts."  Over  at  the  right  of  the 
chair  a  man  not  much  known  then  outside  his  State,  short 
in  stature,  with  a  full  round  face  that  had  in  it  the  rare 
combination  of  womanly  tenderness  with  heroic  firmness, 
stood  up  in  his  seat  and  said,  "  Mr.  President."  The  Pres- 
ident said,  "  The  gentleman  from  Massachusetts  !  "  There  was 
an  instant's  pause.  Hardly  had  the  hush  fallen  when,  in  a 
voice  that  itself  was  music,  John  A.  Andrew  said,  "  Mr.  Pres- 
ident, the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  casts  twenty-one 
votes  for  William  H.  Seward,  four  votes  for  Abraham  Lincoln." 
No  more  than  that.  Only  the  announcement  of  a  vote.  But 
there  was  more  in  it  than  figures.  In  all  that  multitude  there 
was  no  one  so  obtuse  as  not  to  know  that  here  came  on  the 
stage  a  royal  knight  among  the  heralds.  "  The  Common- 
wealth of  Massachusetts "  was  his  announcement,  and  with 
that  there  came  not  merely  the  sapless  factors  in  a  process 
of  mathematics,  but  a  grand  and  stately  Commonwealth, 
crowned  with  the  memories  of  all  her  lofty  sacrifices  and 
glorious  achievements,  proud  of  her  line  and  lineage,  of  her 
storied  places  and  her  battle-fields,  her  statesmen,  heroes, 
scholars,  martyrs,  and,  above  all,  of  her  front  rank  in  devotion 
to  freedom  and  human  rights,  swept  into  the  line  with  a  kingly 
consciousness  of  right  of  precedence.  Dramatic,  but  wonder- 
fully well  acted,  on  no  small  stage  and  in  no  small  way. 

Then  Rhode  Island  and  Connecticut  were  called,  and  gave 
their  answers  as  merest  matter  of  statistics.  The  Secretary 
called  "  New  York."  At  the  head  of  the  New  York  delegation 
a  tall  man,  thin  and  spare,  rose  slowly  to  his  full  height  and 
then  stepped  upon  his  chair.  Then,  in  a  metallic  ringing  voice, 
with  distinct  articulation,  as  though  about  beginning  an  ora- 


LOTOS   LEAVES. 

tion,  Mr.  William  M.  Evarts  said,  "  Mr.  President,"  and  the 
President  replied,  "  The  gentleman  from  New  York."  There 
was  just  the  suggestion  of  noise,  a  low  whispering  buzz  in  the 
great  wigwam  that  hindered  the  silence  from  being  complete. 
But  here  was  an  actor  who  did  not  underestimate  effect.  "  Mr. 
President,"  said  he,  "  I  wait  till  the  Convention  is  in  order." 
It  was  hardly  necessary  for  the  President  to  use  his  gavel  or 
to  say,  "  The  Convention  will  be  in  order."  The  hush  that 
followed  his  last  word  was  absolute.  Every  head  leaned  for- 
ward, every  eye  was  bent  upon  the  gentleman  from  New  York. 
Then,  when  he  knew  he  had  them  all,  bristling  forward,  eager, 
intent,  —  although  his  announcement  had  been  discounted,  and 
they  knew  precisely  what  was  coming, —  he  said,  "  Mr.  Pres- 
ident, the  State  of  New  York  casts  seventy  votes  for  William 
Henry  Seward."  And  the  Convention  broke  into  the  wild  and 
vociferous  cheering  which  the  practised  orator  and  actor  had 
planned  for  with  such  careful  arrangement  of  details. .  The 
dramatic  effect  which,  by  skilful  pauses,  deliberate  utterance, 
and  the  magnetism  of  voice  and  eye,  conveyed  to  the  Con- 
vention a  sense  of  the  personal  affection  and  tender  regard, 
combined  with  loyal  devotion  and  unbounded  admiration,  with 
which  Mr.  Seward  was  regarded  by  the  citizens  of  the  great 
State  of  New  York,  was  carefully  studied  and  wonderfully 
well  done.  These  were  but  touches  of  by-play,  however/  in 
the  larger  drama. 

There  were  two  ballots, —  Seward  leading,  Lincoln  following 
and  gaining.  There  was  a  feeling,  as  the  third  call  began, 
that  this  was  not  only  to  end  the  balloting,  but  to  name  the 
President.  The  excitement  was  intense.  Nimble  pencils  fol- 
lowed down  the  list  of  States,  catching  up  the  changes  that, 


PLAYERS    IN    A    LARGE    DRAMA.  339 

according  to  their  significance,  were  received  with  a  ripple  of 
sensation  or  a  burst  of  cheers.  Before  the  last  State  was 
called  the  event  had  been  discounted  ;  and  though  there  were 
then  four  votes  lacking  to  a  choice,  the  result  was  deemed  to 
have  been  reached.  Instant  on  the  response  of  the  last  State, 
Ohio,  by  her  chairman,  transferred  four  votes  from  Mr.  Chase 
to  Mr.  Lincoln.  The  full-voiced  Secretary  turned  his  face 
upward  to  the  skylight  in  the  roof  above  him,  and  called  out 
the  vote  to  men  who,  without  stopping  to  record  it,  ran  to  the 
sides  of  the  wigwam  and  shouted  the  news  to  the  surging  mul- 
titudes outside.  Within  the  building  grave  and  serious  men 
embraced  and  kissed  each  other,  old  men  danced  and  young 
ones  cheered  and  shouted  and  flung  aloft  their  hats,  the  rafters 
rang  with  multitudinous  roar ;  and  as  the  wave  of  sound  rolled 
through  the  doors  and  windows,  the  streets  took  up  and  echoed 
it  and  rolled  it  back,  cheer  answering  cheer  in  one  great 
jubilee  of  joy.  With  the  first  burst  of  it  a  gunner  standing 
by  his  loaded  piece  with  lighted  match  reached  forth  his 
hand;  there  was  a  little  flash,  —  a  puff  of  cloud,  —  and  into 
the  midst  of  that  wild  tumult  of  applause  there  leaped  from 
the  brazen  belly  of  the  gun  a  roar  that  crowned  and  drowned 
all.  The  curtain  fell  on  the  first  act  of  a  new  historic  period. 
The  roar  of  artillery  that  was  to  be  the  music  of  the  drama 
in  its  stately  progress,  with  a  sublime  fitness  which  there  was 
no  prophet  to  recognize,  had  greeted  the  occasion  and  saluted 
its  hero.  That  moment  a  great,  grand  man,  whom  the  world 
then  scarcely  knew,  stepped  out  with  modest  self-distrust  upon 
a  career  such  as  the  world  had  never  seen,  laid  his  hand 
with  solemn  sense  of  responsibility  upon  the  great  task  be- 
fore him,  and  never  ceased  to  bear  its  burdens  grandly,  while 


340  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

he  wore  its  honors  meekly,  till  from  under  the  assassin's  hand, 
his  labor  done  and  his  fame  complete,  God  called  and  crowned 
him. 

Magnificent  acting  there  was  in  all  this,  and  magnificent 
beyond  description  or  power  of  expression  was  the  acting 
which  came  after  it.  How,  at  the  drawing  of  the  crimson 
curtain  of  the  war,  the  world  beheld  a  million  men  in  arms, 
and  saw  their  camp-fires  stretched  across  a  continent, —  how 
the  stage  was  crowded  with  heroes  great  and  petty,  —  how 
the  guns  were  shotted,  and  the  blood  was  real,  and  the  mad- 
ness and  the  fury  of  the  charge  were  hot  and  earnest,  —  how 
utterly  genuine  were  the  agony  of  parting  and  the  anguish 
of  bereavement,  —  and  how  real  and  remorseless  the  Death  that 
brooded  over  loved  ones,  —  we  may  all  freshly  and  tearfully 
remember.  Grand  and  tremendous  tragedy,  and  for  the  most 
part  grandly  acted !  Possibly  we  are  not  yet  far  enough  away 
from  the  smoke  and  the  roar  of  the  conflict  and  the  glamour 
of  the  fields  to  adjust  this  political  revolution  fairly  to  the 
motives  out  of  which  it  proceeded  and  upon  which  it  was  car- 
ried along.  We  are  apt  to  idealize  epochs  and  peoples  as 
we  invariably  do  individuals.  It  seems  very  plain  that  men 
were  only  puppets  in  the  play.  While  men  were  spinning 
threads  to  patch  a  sail,  God  took  their  puny  policies  for  the 
strands  of  his  eternal  purpose,  and  twisted  them  together  in 
a  cable  that  should  hold  a  ship  at  anchor,  while  it  offered 
rescue  to  a  race.  Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves  as  to  man's 
work  or  man's  purpose  in  the  war.  ,  It  was  not  nearly  so 
large,  so  pure,  or  so  noble  as  we  try  to  think.  Into  it  en- 
tered all  manner  of  motives,  —  ambition,  hatred,  envy,  jeal- 
ousy, love  of  strife,  and  the  passion  for  notoriety,  as  well  as 


PLAYERS    IN    A    LARGE    DRAMA.  341 

high  and  holy  love  of  country,  solemn  sense  of  duty,  sympa- 
thy with  the  oppressed,  love  of  humanity,  and  the  knightly 
sentiment  of  chivalry.  Out  of  the  fiery  furnace  into  which 
all  these  diverging  purposes  were  turned,  there  came,  through 
the  chemistries  of  God's  grace,  pure  gold.  Here  let  us  walk 
with  unshod  feet  and  reverent  head,  as  one  who  treads  on 
holy  ground  and  witnesses  the  mystery  of  miracle. 

It  is  no  detraction  from  the  dignity  and  importance  of 
man's  work  in  the  world  to  judge  of  it  as  done  altogether 
and  always  with  foot-lights  at  the  front.  To  our  eyes,  level 
with  the  stage,  the  acting  all  seems  very  grand  ;  the  sweep 
of  royal  robes  and  the  glitter  of  coronets  and  crowns,  the 
retinues  that  wait  on  kings,  the  assemblies  where  laws  are 
made  and  the  courts  where  they  are  administered,  the  officers 
of  justice,  marching  armies,  noise  of  tumult,  din  of  strife,  shift- 
ing and  mingling  tableaux  of  nations,  states,  and  peoples,  are 
all  as  real  to  us  as  emotion  or  pulsation.  Go  up  a  hundred 
feet  or  more,  and  from  some  tower  window  look  down  upon 
it  all.  How  much  less  it  seems !  Go  still  higher,  till  your 
men  become  insects  and  your  horses  creeping  things,  and  all 
the  glitter  and  spangle  of  trappings  and  dress  are  the  merest 
flash  of  phosphorescent  foam  ;  and  higher  still,  till  you  lose 
all  perception  or  discrimination  of  writhing,  gliding,  twisting, 
individual  men,  and  see  below  you  only  Man.  Ah  !  from  even 
here,  a  short  rifle-range  above  the  world,  what  petty  things 
men  are,  and  how  petty  their  pursuits !  But  look !  how  large 
the  world  itself;  how  broad  and  beautiful,  as  from  this  height 
we  gather  in  the  view!  Men  are  little,  but  the  world  is 
large,  and  Humanity  is  great.  Let  us  be  frank  with  and  to 
ourselves,  acquaint  ourselves  with  our  own  limitations,  not 


342  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

overestimate  our  capacities  or  our  importance.  Our  parts  are 
assigned,  —  we  have  them  to  act.  That  our  mission  in  the 
world  is  no  more  nor  less  than  this,  should  not  deter  us  from 
the  loftiest  ideals  and  a  supreme  endeavor.  For  you  who  stand 
at  the  wings  waiting  to  go  on,  there  need  be  no  discouragement 
in  this  discovery.  Make  up  your  mind  that  you  take  with 
you  in  this  great  venture  all  the  infirmities  that  came  down 
from  Eden,  with  all  the  possibilities  of  being  great  and  true 
that  stretch  out  from  Calvary.  You  are  no  Atlas  bearing 
up  the  world.  Your  responsibility  ends  with  your  own  act- 
ing, and  does  not  reach  to  God's  disposing.  Because  you 
may  not  attain  perfection,  is  no  excuse  for  not  struggling  in  a 
great  and  hearty  way  toward  it.  Truth  is  as  absolute  as  per- 
fection. Go  toward  it,  not  as  a  child  toward  a  bawble,  hoping 
to  grasp  and  hold  it  fast,  but  follow  it  reverently  as  the 
chosen  people  followed  the  fiery  pillar  to  the  shores  of  Jordan 
and  the  Land  of  Promise.  Strip  yourself  first  of  the  deceit 
that  you  are  not  acting,  and  then  act  well  your  part.  They 
are  the  greatest  actors  who  enter  into  the  character  they  play, 
and  utterly  forget  themselves.  And  they  who  act  grand  char- 
acters themselves  become  grand.  Make  your  ideal  grand, 
lofty,  pure ;  saturate  yourself  with  its  spirit,  walk  in  your 
conception  of  it,  act  it,  be  it.  The  world's  applause  is  not  all 
that 's  worth  living  for,  but  it  is  not  to  be  despised.  Accept 
it  modestly,  deserve  it  faithfully,  but  never  bow  the  knee  to 
reach  it,  or  be  distracted  by  it  from  your  purpose  and  your 
work.  You  all  things  invite ;  for  your  fresh  face  and  spring- 
ing step  and  all  your  youthful  possibilities,  a  hearty  welcome 
and  sincere  applause  await.  The  curtain  rises,  the  play  is 
called :  go  on,  and  God  go  with  you  ! 


BERTHA  KLEIN 


BERTHA    KLEIN. 


A   STORY  OF  THE  LAHN. 
BY    W.    J.    FLORENCE. 

OCTOR,  will  you  hear  my  story? 
Thank  you. 

I  was  a  student  at  the  University  of 
Bonn,  and  during  my  vacations  often 
went  fishing  up  the  Lahn.  The  Lahn, 
you  know,  is  a  charming  river  that  empties  into  the  Rhine 
opposite  Capellen  and  the  beautiful  castle  of  Slolzenfels. 
During  these  excursions  I  made  my  headquarters  at  the 
"  Drei  Kronen,"  a  delightful  little  German  inn,  situate  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  river,  a  few  miles  above  Lahnstein,  and 
kept  by  one  Caspar  Lauber.  From  Caspar  I  learned  where 
were  to  be  found  the  best  fishing-spots,  and  after  our  day's 
sport  we  would  sit  under  the  vines  and  tell  stories  of  the 
past.  He  related  anecdotes  of  the  Austrian  campaign,  —  he 
had  been  a  soldier ;  I  would  speak  of  my  American  home, 
far  away  on  the  Ohio  :  and  as  we  watched  the  smoke  curling 
from  our  meerschaums  of  canaster,  we  would  intermingle  the 
legends  with  staves  of  "  Die  Wacht  am  Rhein  "  and  "  Tramp ! 
tramp  !  the  boys  are  marching."  I  had  been  two  summers 
thus  passing  my  holidays  between  Nassau  and  Lahnstein, 


346  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

doing  duty  with  rod  and  reel,  when  one  day,  while  at  my 
favorite  pastime,  I  became  aware  I  had  a  companion ;  for 
above  me  on  the  bank  stood  a  pretty  girl  intently  watching 
my  endeavors  to  hook  a  Barbillion  that  had  evaded  my 
attempts  to  land  him. 

"  O,  so  near !  't  is  too  bad ! "  said  she  with  a  pretty 
Nassaun  accent.  "  If  the  Herr  try  his  luck  over  there,  above 
the  ferry-boat,  he  will  have  fine  sport."  And  then,  as  if  she 
felt  ashamed  at  having  spoken  to  a  stranger,  she  dropped 
her  eyes,  while  a  blush  at  once  overspread  her  face. 

"  Thank  you,  pretty  one,"  said  I.  "  I  supposed  I  had  known 
all  the  favorite  fishing-spots  on  the  river ;  but  if  the  Fraulein 
will  conduct  me,  I  will  go  and  try  above  the  ferry-boat." 

"  Philip  Becker  always  fishes  there  when  he  visits  Fachbach, 
and  never  without  bringing  in  a  well-filled  pannier "  ;  this  in 
a  half-timid,  half-sad  voice. 

"Well,  show  the  way,  Fraulein."  She  led  the  way  to  the 
place  indicated,  when  I  ventured  to  ask  her  name. 

"Bertha    Klein,"  she  said. 

"And  do  you  live  near,  Fraulein?" 

"  Yes,  over  there  near  the  Lahneck.  Father  works  at  the 
Eisensmeltz.  I  am  returning  from  there  now.  I  bring  him 
his  dinner  at  this  hour." 

"  Every  day  at  this  hour  you  cross  the  ferry  with  papa's 
dinner,  do  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  Herr." 

"  And  who  is  Philip  Becker,  of  whom  you  spoke  a  moment 
since  ? " 

"  Philip,  he  lives  at  Nassau  with  Keppler  the  chemist."  And 
at  pronouncing  Philip's  name  I  thought  I  saw  a  dark  shadow 


BERTHA    KLEIN.  347 

pass  over  Bertha's  pretty  face.  "  Philip  is  coming  to  Fach- 
bach  next  week,  so  papa  tells  me."  And  Bertha's  pretty  face 
again  grew  darkly  sad. 

She  was  of  the  blond  type  of  German  girl,  blue-veined,  with 
large  bright  eyes,  fringed  with  silken  lashes,  long  and  regular, 
while  her  golden  hair  hung  down  in  twin  braids  at  her  back; 

"Good  day,  sir." 

"Good  day,  Bertha."  And  she  tripped  quickly  up  the 
bank  and  disappeared. 

The  evening  found  me  at  the  Drei  Kronen,  with  a  well- 
filled  basket  of  carp  and  barbel. 

"  There,  landlord,"  said  I,  "  you  may  thank  the  pretty  Bertha 
Klein  for  my  luck  to-day.  She  it  was  who  told  me  where  to 
throw  my  line." 

"  Oh !  oh !  Have  you  seen  Bertha  ?  She  is  one  of  the 
prettiest  girls  in  the  Duchy,  and  good  as  she  is  beautiful."  And 
then  Caspar  gave  me  a  history  of  her  family.  Her  father 
was  foreman  at  the  Eisensmeltz,  or  furnace.  Bertha  was  an 
only  child.  Philip  Becker,  a  chemist's  clerk  at  Nassau,  was  a 
suitor  for  her  hand  ;  and  although  Philip  was  an  ill-favored, 
heavy  lout,  Bertha's  mother  thought  him  every  way  worthy 
of  her  child.  "  I  do  not  think  the  girl  likes  him,"  said  the 
landlord,  "  nor  should  daughter  of  mine  wed  him."  And  we 
drank  a  glass  of  Ashmanshauser  to  the  health  of  the  pretty 
Bertha  Klein. 

Day  after  day  Bertha  would  stop  a  moment  to  speak  a  few 
words  to  me  as  she  journeyed  to  and  from  the  furnace.  Our 
acquaintance  ripened  into  friendship,  friendship  into  —  Well, 
you  will  see,  doctor.  One  day,  while  climbing  the  hillside 
together,  picking  wild  flowers,  stopping  ever  and  anon  to 


34^  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

listen  to  the  rushing  of  the  river  at  our  feet  or  the  loud 
roaring  of  the  iron  furnace  across  the  stream,  Bertha,  sud- 
denly stooping,  cried,  "  O  Albert,  see  here  !  Look  !  oh,  look  ! 
Here  is  the  Todesblume"  * 

"  The  Todesblume  !     Where,  Bertha  ? " 

"  Here  at  my  feet ;  and,  see,  the  mountain-side  is  full  of 
them.  Do  you  know  the  legend  of  this  flower  ? " 

"No,  darling,  tell  it  me." 

We  seated  ourselves  on  a  large  mass  of  stone,  portions  of 
the  fallen  ruin  of  the  old  castle  Lahneck,  that  towered  for  a 
hundred  feet  above  our  heads  ;  and  while  Bertha's  clear  blue 
eyes  sparkled  with  a  strange  mixture  of  mystery  and  ear- 
nestness, and  betimes  referring  to  the  bunch  of  small  white 
flowers  in  her  hand,  she  related  to  me  the  LEGEND  OF  THE 
TODESBLUME. 

"This  old  castle  up  there  behind  us  was  once  the  stronghold 
of  the  famous  old  freebooter,  Baron  Rittenhall,  who,  although 
considered  a  wicked,  reckless,  wild  man  by  the  world  in  gen- 
eral, yet  loved  his  young  and  beautiful  wife  with  the  greatest 
possible  affection.  And,  indeed,  't  was  said  the  immense  treas- 
ures he  had  levied  from  vessels  passing  up  and  down  the  Lahn 
were  spent  in  jewels,  trinkets,  and  precious  stcnes  to  deco- 
rate the  person  of  his  lovely  wife,  the  Lady  Rittenhall. 

"  One  day  a  pilgrim  passing  the  castle  begged  for  alms.  The 
pious  Baroness  gave  him  succor,  while  he  in  return  gave 
her  a  single  sprig  of  green.  *  This/  said  the  holy  man,  '  if 
planted  in  early  spring,  will  bear  a  small  white  flower,  which  is 
of  rare  virtue,  for  on  St.  Anne's  day  the  possessor  of  this  little 
flower  may  summon  from  the  dead  the  spirit  of  his  departed 
love.' 

*  Death-flower. 


BERTHA    KLEIN.  349 

"'The  spirit  of  one's  departed  love'?  echoed  the  Baroness. 

"'Yes,  daughter/  rejoined  the  friar,  'at  midnight  on  St. 
Anne's  day,  whoever  will  dissolve  this  flower  in  a  goblet  of 
Emser  red  wine,  while  repeating  these  words,  — 

"  From  earth,  from  sea, 
From  brook,  from  fen, 
From  haunt  of  beast, 
From  homes  of  men, 
Form  of  one  I  loved  most  dear, 
By  Todesblume,  appear!   appear!" 

shall  bring  to  earth  the  loved  departed  one.  Remember, 
daughter,'  continued  the  pilgrim,  ''twill  require  a  brave  heart 
to  summon  from  the  grave.'  And,  blessing  her,  he  took  his 
leave. 

"  On  the  following  day  the  Lady  Rittenhall,  with  her  own 
white  hands,  planted  the  sprig  in  a  pretty,  bright  spot,  near 
where  we  are  now  sitting,"  said  Bertha ;  and  her  pretty  voice 
grew  sweetly  tremulous  as  though  it  had  tears  in  it. 

"  Day  after  day  would  the  beautiful  Lady  of  Lahneck  watch 
the  little  flowers  budding  from  the  stems,  until  they  seemed 
to  grow  under  the  sunlight  of  her  eyes,  so  that  when  the 
Baron  returned  from  an  incursion  among  the  neighboring 
mountains,  he  found  the  hillside  whitened  with  them. 

" '  This  is  thy  work,  dear  one,'  said  the  Baron,  as,  descend- 
ing from  his  saddle  at  the  drawbridge,  he  pointed  proudly  to 
the  carpet  of  white  flowers  at  his  feet. 

" '  I  knew  't  would  please  thee,'  smilingly  replied  she ;  and, 
leading  to  the  dining-hall,  while  the  Baron  and  his  retainers 
washed  '  their  draughts  of  Rhenish  down/  she  related  the 
story,  as  told  her  by  the  pilgrim. 


350  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

" '  By  my  falchion/  said  the  Baron,  '  't  is  a  well-told  tale ; 
and  here  I  pledge  me,  should  fate  or  fortune  take  thee  from 
me,  bride  of  mine,  I  swear  by  my  sword  to  summon  thee  to 
earth  again.  In  token  of  the  promise,  I  drink  this  goblet  to 
the  table  round.' 

"That  night,  while  the  Baron  held  high  revel  with  his  brother 

* 
troopers  in  the  dining-hall,  the  Lady  Rittenhall  sat  trembling 

in  her  chamber ;  a  strange  dread  seemed  to  possess  her,  a 
belief  that  she  should  be  doomed  b'y  fate  to  test  the  powers 
of  the  Todesblume.  A  cold  hand  seemed  to  clasp  her  heart, 
and  scarcely  had  her  maids  been  summoned  to  her  apartment, 
before  the  good  lady  was  a  corpse. 

"  The  Baron,  once  so  wild  and  reckless,  now  became  sad  and 
morose.  He  was  inconsolable.  Now  clasping  in  his  arms  the 
form  of  his  once  beautiful  wife,  now  pacing  the  long  corridors 
of  the  castle  that  echoed  gloomily  his  stifled  sighs,  he  was  in- 
deed broken  in  heart  and  spirit. 

"  Scarce  had  they  laid  the  body  in  the  grave  before  the  Baron 
again  remembered  his  pledge  to  test  the  death-flower.  St. 
Anne's  day  was  now  fast  approaching,  and  his  oath  must  be 
fulfilled."  Here  Bertha  stopped,  and,  looking  quietly  about 
her,  asked  me  if  I  did  not  hear  a  footstep. 

"No,  darling,"  said  I;  "goon  with  your  story;  there  is  no 
one  near  us." 

"  I  am  sure,  Albert,  I  heard  a  footfall  in  the  bushes  behind 
us,"  continued  she ;  and  her  voice  again  grew  tremulous  and 
tearful. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Bertha,"  said  I,  reassuring  her.  "  Let 
me  hear  your  story  out." 

"Well,  the  Baron  shut  himself  up  in  the  very  chamber  where 


BERTHA    KLEIN.  351 

his  lady  had  breathed  her.  last,  and  on  the  morning  of  St. 
Anne's  day  was  found  lying  dead,  while  on  the  table  stood  a 
goblet  of  Emser  red  wine,  in  which  floated  the  broken  petals 
of  the  Todesblume  ;  and  they  do  say,"  whispered  Bertha,  "  that 
a  small  white  dove  was  seen  flying  from  the  upper  window 
of  the  castle  at  midnight  of  St.  Anne's  day." 

"  Very  well  told,  Bertha,"  said  I.  And  my  boyish  heart  was 
filled  with  a  wild  desire  to  test  the  maiden's  love.  "  I  would 
do  as  much  for  you,  my  Bertha,  should  you  be  taken  from 
me.  I  would  call  you  back  to  earth  if  it  were  possible,  and 
here  I  swear  it,"  said  I,  rising  to  my  feet. 

"O  Albert,  do  not,  I  implore  you!"  cried  Bertha,  wildly 
throwing  her  arms  about  my  neck. 

"  Very  pretty  !  very  pretty  ! "  growled  a  rough  voice  behind 
us>  —  <•  very  pretty  ;  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  your  love-song, 
Fraulein."  And  a  heavy,  thick-set  young  man,  with  stooping 
shoulders,  and  straight  long  hair,  put  back  behind  his  ears, 
came  out  of  the  bushes  at  our  back.  His  eyes,  heavy  and 
leaden-colored,  seemed  half  closed,  while  he  hissed  his  words 
between  two  rows  of  singularly  white  and  even  teeth. 

"  Pardon,  Herr  American.  Bertha's  mother  sent  me  in 
quest  of  her.  'T  is  near  sunset,  and  the  gossips  at  Fachbach 
might  say  evil  things  of  the  Fraulein  if  they  knew  —  " 

"  Philip  Becker,  stop !  I  know  what  you  would  say,"  cried 
she.  "  Do  not  insult  me.  Tell  my  mother  I  will  come." 

"  She  bade  me  fetch  you,"  hissed  Philip  Becker,  while  his 
eyes  slowly  closed  their  lids  as  if  they  were  too  heavy  to 
keep  open,  —  "  to  fetch  you,  Fraulein  !  —  fetch  you." 

"  Hark  you,  friend,"  said  I.     "  You  have  delivered  your   mes- 

» 
sage.     Your  presence  is  no  longer  needed.     I  will  accompany 

Miss  Bertha  home." 


352  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

"  I  spoke  not  to  you','  said    Philip,  fairly  yellow  with   rage. 

"  But  I  spoke  to  you,  sir  !  You  see,  you  frighten  the  girl. 
Take  your  dark  shadow  hence,  or  I  will  hurl  you  into  the 
river  at  my  feet." 

With  a  wild  yell  the  chemist's  clerk  sprang  at  my  throat, 
and  would  have  strangled  me,  but  with  a  sudden  jerk  I  struck 
him  full  in  the  face  with  my  head,  and,  throwing  him  'off  his 
feet  at  the  same  moment,  I  sent  him  spinning  down  the  hill- 
side ;  nor  did  he  stop  till  he  reached  the  river,  from  whence 
I  saw  him  crawl,  dripping  wet. 

"  Very  pretty,  Fraulein !  Very  pretty,  Herr  American  ! " 
shouted  Philip,  as  he  shook  his  clinched  fist  at  me,  and 
disappeared  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Bertha,  who  had  screamed 
and  hid  her  face,  now  became  alarmed  for  my  safety.  "  He  will 
do  you  some  fearful  harm,  I  know  he  will  ;  he  is  vindictive  and 
relentless.  O  Albert !  it  is  all  my  fault,"  sobbed  the  pale  girl ; 
and,  picking  up  her  flowers,  we  journeyed  toward  the  village. 
"  I  did  not  know  he  had  arrived  from  Nassau,"  said  she, 
"  though  mother  told  me  he  was  coming  soon.  I  hate  him, 
and  I  shall  tell  him  so,  though  I  am  sure  he  knows  it  already." 

We  had  reached  the  garden  of  the  Drei  Kronen,  when 
Bertha  said,  "  Come  no  farther  with  me.  Leave  me  here,  Al- 
bert. I  must  go  on  alone,  now  ;  't  is  best."  And  giving  me  the 
sprig  of  the  Todesblume,  she  tripped  away  towards  her  home. 

Placing  the  flowers  in  my  letter-book,  I  strolled  into  the 
tavern,  where  I  found  the  landlord  endeavoring  to  dry  the 
dripping  Philip  Becker  with  a  flask  of  Ashmanshauser.  The 
moment  Philip  saw  me  enter,  he  dropped  his  glass,  and  with 
a  curse  on  his  heavy  lip  darted  out  of  the  door. 

"  He  has   told   me  all  about  it,"  said   the   landlord,  roaring 


BERTHA    KLEIN.  353 

with  laughter ;  "  and  it  served  him  right.  Egad,  I  wish  I 
had  been  there  to  see  it."  So  we  took  our  pipes,  and  after 
I  had  related  the  story  of  my  struggle  with  Philip  on  the 
hillside,  took  my  candle  from  the  stand  and  went  to  bed,  of 
course  to  dream  of  Bertha  Klein. 

Day  after  day  during  the  long  summer  would  we  meet  at 
the  foot  of  the  Lahneck,  there  to  renew  our  vows  of  eternal 
constancy.  Philip  Becker  had  gone  back  to  Nassau,  vowing 
vengeance  on  the  entire  American  nation,  and  myself  in  par- 
ticular. Bertha  and  I  would  often  laugh  at  the  remembrance 
of  poor  Philip's  appearance  dripping  on  the  river-bank,  and 
with  a  prayer  for  his  continued  absence,  we  would  again  pick 
Todesblumes  at  the  old  trysting-place. 

Thus  matters  went  till  near  the  month  of  September,  when 
I  was  summoned  home  to  America.  My  mother  was  dying 
with  a  sorrowing  heart,  and,  torn  between  love  and  duty,  I 
broke  the  news  to  Bertha. 

"  And  must  you  go  ? "  cried  Bertha.  "  O  darling,  I  shall 
die  !  " 

"  I  shall  return  in  the  spring,  my  beloved,  if  God  will  spare 
me.  The  time  will  pass  quickly  ;  you  will  hear  from  me  by 
every  mail,  I  promise  you ;  and  here,  where  I  first  listened 
to  your  words  of  love,  I  again  pledge  my  faith."  So,  kissing 
Bertha,  I  tore  myself  away. 

"  I  will  never  see  you  again,  my  own,  my  only  love,"  were 
the  last  words  that  caught  my  ear ;  and,  looking  back,  I  saw 
poor  Bertha,  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  at  the  foot  of 
the  tower,  where  she  first  told  the  story  of  the  death-flower. 

With  all  speed  I  returned  to  Bonn,  where  I  found  letters 
awaiting  me.  I  must  at  once  return  to  the  States.  So,  bid- 


354  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

ding  my  fellow-students  adieu,  I  took  my  departure  for  Liver- 
pool, and,  securing  passage  by  a  Cunarder,  in  ten  days 
reached  New  York ;  four  more  days  brought  me  to  my  moth- 
er's bedside.  She  had  been  very  ill,  but  now  gave  promise 
of  a  slow  recovery.  Days,  weeks,  months,  passed  away,  and 
I  was  constantly  in  receipt  of  letters  from  Bertha.  The  same 
old  trusting  love,  the  same  pure,  innocent  sentiments,  filled 
her  pages,  while  an  occasional  small  white  flower  would 
recall  our  meetings  on  the  hillside  at  the  Lahneck.  "  Here," 
Bertha  would  write,  "  is  the  Todesblume,  to  remind  you  of 
the  little  girl  who  awaits  your  return  on  the  banks  of  the 
flowing  Lahn." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  I  should  return  to  Germany  in 
the  spring  ;  and  as  my  mother's  health  was  fast  returning, 
I  looked  forward  to  the  date  of  my  departure-  with  great  joy, 
when  suddenly  Bertha  ceased  to  write  to  me.  Several  weeks 
elapsed,  the  holidays  passed,  and  still  no  letter  from  my 
heart's  idol.  Can  Bertha's  mother  have  insisted  upon  her 
marrying  Philip  Becker  ?  Perhaps  she  is  ill.  Can  she  have 
forgotten  me  ?  These  and  a  thousand  other  surmises  filled 
my  brain,  and  I  was  in  despair,  when  one  day  the  postman 
brought  me  a  letter  with  a  German  post-mark,  but  the  address 
was  not  in  Bertha's  handwriting,  I  hastily  tore  it  open  ;  it 
was  from  Caspar  Lauber,  landlord  of  the  Drei  Kronen. 

Great  God  !  Bertha  had  been  murdered !  found  dead  with 
three  cruel  stabs  in  her  neck  and  breast ;  and  there  at  the 
very  spot  where  I  had  left  her  on  the  hillside  was  the  deed 
committed.  Suspicion  had  fallen  on  Philip  Becker,  who  had 
fled  the  country,  while  a  reward  was  offered  for  his  apprehen- 
sion. I  could  read  no  further,  but  with  a  groan  fell  fainting 


BERTHA    KLEIN.  355 

to  the  floor.  A  long  and  serious  illness  followed,  and  for 
months  I  lay  just  flickering  between  life  and  death.  In  my 
moments  of  delirium  I  would  often  call  for  Bertha  Klein, 
and  with  a  maddened  scream  vow  vengeance  on  the  chemist's 
clerk.  My  dreams  were  of  the  river  Lahn  and  its  vine-cov- 
ered hills.  Then  my  fancy  would  picture  Bertha  struggling 
with  Philip,  and  while  he  plunged  the  knife  into  her  pure 
heart,  I  was  held  by  a  stalwart  demon,  who  spat  upon  me 
and  mocked  my  frantic  efforts  to  free  her  from  the  murder- 
er's grasp.  Then  the  old  castle  of  the  Lahneck  would  fill 
my  disordered  vision,  and  at  its  foot,  among  the  vines,  I  saw 
two  youthful  forms,  —  the  one  a  tall,  dark-haired  youth,  the 
other  a  blue-eyed  German  girl.  In  her  hand  she  held  a  small 
white  flower,  and  as  she  looked  through  tears  of  joy  into  the 
young  man's  face,  the  figure  of  a  low-browed,  wild,  misshapen 
man  arose  behind  them.  Noiselessly  he  crept  to  the  maiden's 
side,  and  with  a  hissing,  devilish  laugh,  dashed  headlong  down 
the  mountain-side  into  the  river  below,  leaving  the  loving  pair 
transfixed  with  fear  and  wonder. 

When  the  bright  spring  days  came,  I  grew  somewhat  bet- 
ter, but  the  physicians  said  my  recovery  would  be  a  slow  one. 

My  attendants  would  tell  me  of  my  ravings,  of  my  constantly 
calling  Bertha  ;  and,  to  humor  my  caprices,  had  brought,  at 
my  request,  a  small  box  containing  Bertha's  letters  and  the 
various  love-tokens  she  had  given  me.  In  my  porte-monnaie 
I  found  the  little  flower,  —  Bertha's  gift,  when  she  related  the 
story  of  the  Todesblume.  It  was  pressed  between  two  small 
cards,  and  indeed  seemed  almost  as  fresh  as  when  the  Frau- 
lein  gave  it  me.  "  This  flower,"  said  I,  "  will  bring  her  back 
to  me  for  a  moment  at  least;  and  when  I  am  grown  strong 
and  well,  I  '11  try  the  spell." 


356  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

The  last  day  of  June  found  me  sufficiently  recovered  to 
journey  to  Saratoga,  at  the  recommendation  of  my  physician. 
I  reached  New  York  City,  when  I  determined  to  go  no  far- 
ther until  I  tested  the  power  of  the  death-flower. 

To  this  end  I  put  an  advertisement  in  the  paper :  "  A 
gentleman  desirous  of  making  some  experiments  in  chemistry 
would  like  an  unfurnished  apartment  in  the  upper  portion  of 
the  city.  The  advertiser  would  prefer  such  apartment  in  a 
house  not  occupied  as  a  residence.  Apply,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

The  third  day  after  my  advertisement  appeared,  an  elderly 
German  gentleman  waited  on  me  at  my  lodgings.  He  had 
just  the  apartment  I  desired,  over  a  druggist's  shop  ;  in  fact, 
the  upper  floor  of  a  three-story  house,  unoccupied  save  by  the 
old  gentleman,  who  kept  the  drug-store  beneath,  and  situated 
in  a  quiet  up-town  street,  near  one  of  the  avenues. 

I  at  once  engaged  the  rooms,  and  on  the  following  day 
made  an  inspection  of  the  premises.  I  found  the  upper  story 
to  consist  of  two  rooms  of  equal  size.  One  room  was  entirely 
empty,  and  the  other  contained  a  long  table,  three  wooden- 
bottomed  chairs,  while  a  large  glass  mirror  over  the  mantel 
completed  the  furniture  of  the  apartment. 

"  I  have  occupied  this  house  but  a  few  weeks,"  said  the  old 
German  ;  "  and  as  I  am  alone  here,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have 
your  company  ;  so,  if  the  Herr  will  take  the  apartments,  he 
shall  have  them  at  his  own  price."  And  the  old  druggist 
bowed  to  the  very  ground  in  Teutonic  politeness. 

"  What  door  is  this  ? "  said  I,  pointing  to  a  small  trap  in 
the  wall,  about  two  feet  wide,  and  just  large  enough  to  admit 
a  man,  stooping.  This  door  had  been  concealed  by  the  back 
of  one  of  the  chairs,  and  I  thought  the  old  gentleman  seemed 
startled  at  my  discovering  it. 


BERTHA    KLEIN.  357 

"I  do  not  know  for  what  purpose  that  door  could  have  been 
constructed,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  but  you  see  it  leads  to  the 
other  room."  And,  passing  through,  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
empty  apartment. 

After  a  word  or  two  of  necessary  agreement,  I  hired  the 
apartments  for  one  month  from  date,  and  on  the  following 
Friday,  St.  Anne's  day,  I  determined  to  try  the  potency  of 
my  magic  flower. 

At  midnight,  on  the  26th  of  July,  1869,  I  sat  alone  in 
that  chamber.  Upon  the  table  stood  a  silver  goblet  filled 
with  Emser  red  wine.  At  the  head  of  the  table  I  had 
placed  a  chair,  while  I  occupied  another  at  the  foot.  The 
clock  of  St.  Michael's  Church  commenced  to  strike  the  hour  of 
midnight ;  at  the  first  stroke  I  extinguished  the  light,  and, 
dropping  the  flower  into  the  goblet,  slowly  spoke  the  words,  — 

'•  From  earth,  from  sea, 
From  brook   from  fen, 
From  haunt  of  beast, 
From  homes  of  men, 
Form  of  her  I  love  most  dear, 
By  Todesblume,  appear  !   appear  !  " 

As  the  echoes  of  the  last  stroke  of  twelve  died  upon  my 
ear,  a  thin  cloud  of  vapor  rose  from  the  goblet ;  at  first  it  was 
of  a  violet  hue,  when  suddenly  it  changed  into  bright  crimson 
color,  and,  growing  gradually  dense  and  heavy,  soon  filled  the 
room,  while  through  the  misty  veil  I  saw  globes  of  golden 
pearl  dancing  before  my  astonished  vision,  strange  soft  music 
played  in  sweetest  strains  about  my  ears,  and,  growing  giddy 
at  the  sound,  I  felt  I  was  falling  from  the  chair.  With  a 
determination  to  resist  the  power  that  was  pressing  on  my 


358  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

brain   I   held   fast   to   the   table,   and   cried   again,    "  Appear ! 
appear ! " 

The  mist  was  now  fast  disappearing,  and  while  the  room 
grew  bright,  as  though  lighted  by  a  thousand  candles,  I  saw 
seated  in  the  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table,  dressed  in  the 
cerements  of  the  grave,  the  ghost  of  Bertha  Klein ;  her  golden 
hair  no  longer  braided  down  her  back,  but  hanging  loosely 
about  her  face ;  her  eyes  pure  and  blue  as  of  old,  but  sad  and 
weeping.  A  clot  of  blood  upon  her  neck  marked  the  spot 
where  the  murderer's  knife  had  entered.  Frozen  with  horror 
at  the  sight,  I  sat  motionless  'for  an  instant ;  but  her  pitiful 
face  and  sorrowful  look  seemed  to  ask  for  words  of  com- 
passion. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Bertha ;   let  me  hear  your  voice,"  cried  I. 

Quick  as  a  flash  she  rose,  and  with  a  cry  of  horror  that 
chilled  me  to  the  heart's  core,  she  screamed,  "  Look  behind 
you  quick,  Albert !  quick  ! " 

I  turned  just  in  time  to  save  my  life ;  for  the  old  druggist 
had  stealthily  entered  through  the  trap-door  in  the  wall,  and 
was  about  to  plunge  a  large  dirk-knife  in  my  back,  when  I 
caught  his  arm  ;  in  the  struggle  that  ensued,  I  tore  the  wig 
from  his  head,  and,  making  one  desperate  blow,  I  sent  the 
knife  intended  for  me  into  the  heart  of  Philip  Becker. 

Now,  doctor,  I  thank  you  for  your  attention.  I  have  but 
one  more  favor  to  ask.  Won't  you  speak  to  the  chief  physi- 
cian ?  Appeal  to  my  friends  to  have  me  released  from  this 
asylum,  for  I  assure  you  I  am  no  more  a  lunatic  than  you 
are. 


NINE  TALES  OF  A  CAT 


NINE  TALES  OF   A   CAT. 

A  LEGEND  OF  MURRA  Y  HILL. 

RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED  TO  THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  H.  S.  P.  C.  H. 
BY    J.    BRANDER    MATTHEWS. 

OUNG   Dr.  Jones  was  one  of  those  nice   young 

men, 

Supposed  to  belong  to  the  upperest  ten ; 
His  manners  were  soft  and  aristocratic ; 
He  waltzed  in  a  way  that  the  girls  called  ecstatic, 
While  he  flavored  his  talk  with  a  wit  that  was  Attic. 
They  said  that  his  form  was  patrician  in  mould ; 
He  had  wealth  untold, 
He  had  stores  of  gold  ; 
He  had  ancestors  too,  in  the  days  of  old ; 
Yet  his  enemies  called  him  a  Fifth-Avenoodle, 
'Cause  he  parted  his  hair  in  front,  like  a  poodle. 

Returning  one  night  from  the  joys  of  the  dance, 

To  the  house  where  he  dwelt  with  his  two  maiden  aunts, 

He  entered  his  chamber  and  cast  off  his  clothes, 

Then  he  sprang. into  bed,  softly  seeking  repose. 

He  dreams,  while  he  sleeps,  of  the  blond  Miss  Tressyllian, 

The  fair  dam-sell  with  whom  he  had  danced  the  cotillon, 

Whose  father,  't  was  said,  was  worth  more  than  a  million. 


362  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

In  the  midst  of  his  dreams, 

It  suddenly  seems 

That  he  hears  a  shrill  sound  that  no  mortal  could  utter ; 
Right  through  him  it  went,  —  like  a  hot  knife  through  butter. 
So  he  jumped  to  the  window,  threw  open  the  shutter ; 
On  the  fence  in  the  yard  he  beheld  a  huge  Cat ! 
Which  was  singing  a  song  in  the  key  of  Z  flat. 
He  shouted  out  "  Scat ! "  but  the  beast  would  not  scatter. 
Then  he  swore  ;  he  said,  Darn  her  !  and  Dang  her  !  and  Drat  her  ! 
And  affirmed  with  an  oath,  could  he  only  get  at  her, 

He  would  beat  her  and  bat  her, 
And  reduce  her  indeed  to  inanimate  matter ! 
He,  in  short,  was  as  mad  as  a  hare  or  a  hatter. 
But  the  Cat  kept  on  yelling,  to  pause  still  refusing. 

Right  or  wrong, 

She  continued  her  song, 
In  a  way  that,  perhaps,  she  considered  a-mew-sing. 

Dr.  Jones  thought  for  a  second ; 

He  rapidly  reckoned 

All  the  ways  that  existed  of  trying  to  still  her, 
And  at  length  he  resolved  upon  murder !  he  'd  kill  her ! 
In  the  East,  every  city  is  ruled  by  a  Mayor  ; 
In  the  West  they  are  ruled  by  the  Colt,  au  contraire. 
So  Dr.  Jones  takes  his  pistol  from  out  of  his  bureau, 
With  a  fierceness  suggesting  the  banks  of  the  Douro, 
With  an  ardor  recalling  the  hot  sun  of  Cadiz, 
He  takes  aim,  and  he  fires,  and  the  Cat  goes  to  Hades! 

And  Dr.  Jones  goes  to  bed, 

And  to  sleep,  it  is  said, 
With  the  hope  in  his  heart  that  the  Cat  is  now  dead. 


NINE    TALES    OF    A    CAT.  3^3 

On  the  evening  succeeding 

This  murderous  proceeding, 
In  his  room  he  was  sitting,  some  poetry  reading, 

When  he  suddenly  heard, 

As  he  after  averred, 

A  most  horrible  noise  :  what  could  have  occurred  ? 
It  was  dreadful,  and  dire,  and  supremely  absurd ! 
It  was  ghostly  and  ghastly  and  ghoulish  ! 
He  threw  open  the  shutter,  and  he  felt  rather  foolish, 
Yet  he  stood  firm  and  fast,  though  the  night  air  was  coolish. 

One  firmness,  infirmity, 

Or  whate'er  you  may  term  it,  he 
Possessed  in  abundance ;  his  temper  was  mulish. 
And  besides  he  felt  sure  that  a  sound  like  that 

Could  be  naught  but  a  Cat ! 
It  might  be  a  Tom  or  it  might  be  a  Tabby  ; 
It  sounded  indeed  like  a  muscular  babby ! 
Then  he  heard  it  again,  —  in  the  key  of  Z  flat ; 
'T  was  the  beast  he  had  killed,  —  he  was  certain  of  that ! 

The  ghost  of  the  Cat 

Had  returned !  that  was  pat ! 

So  he  snatched  up  his  pistol,  and  said,  "The  joke  played  is!" 
He  took  aim,  and  he  fired,  and  the  Cat  went  to  Hades. 

On  the  evening  after 

He  was  shaking  with  laughter ; 
In  the  midst  of  his  fun  there  arose  a  shrill  sound ; 

It  came  up  from  the  ground. 
It  was  not  a  shriek,  it  was  not  a  rnoan, 
It  was  not  a  growl,  it  was  not  a  groan, 


364  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

But  its  hollow  tone 

Chilled  Dr.  Jones  to  the  bone ; 

'T  was  the  ghost  of  that  Cat ! 

He  was  certain  of  that ! 

He  began  to  be  frightened,  in  spite  of  his  boasts : 
If  a  Cat  have  nine  lives,  can  a  Cat  have  nine  ghosts  ? 
He  threw  down  the  book  he  was  reading  ("  Lord  Bantam "), 

For  he  feared  that  the  phantom 

Was  going  to  haunt  him, 

To  fret  him  and  fright  him  ;  —  it  never  shall  daunt  him ! 
So  he  snatched  up  his  pistol,  —  't  would  frighten  the  ladies,  — 
He  took  aim,  and  he  fired,  and  the  Cat  went  to  Hades. 

He  lies  tossing  and  turning  throughout  the  long  night ; 
Not  a  wink  can  he  sleep,  on  account  of  his  fright. 

At  the  earliest  light 

He  arises  and  walks  to  his  office,  —  poor  wight ! 
He's  a  real-estate  broker,  but  —  strange  metamorphosis  — 
Although  customers  come,  he  can  scarce  let  'em  offices ; 

At  his  window,  I  'm  told, 

He  had  caught  a  bad  cold, 

And  his  partners  affirmed,  they  ne'er  heard  such  a  cough  as  his. 
Young  Dr.  Jones  often  wished,  when  he  thought  of  the  Cat, 
To  be  deaf  as  a  post,  or  as  blind  as  a  bat : 
He  would  hear  not  and  see  not  the  terrible  ghost, 
Which  returned  night  by  night  to  his  favorite  post. 
That  evening  again  on  the  fence  there  sat 

The  ghastly  old  Cat, 

With  her  horrible  song  in  the  key  of  Z  flat ! 
Now  no  saint  could  endure  an  infliction  like  that, 


NINE    TALES    OF    A    CAT. 

So  he  snatched  up  his  pistol,  — his  soul  more  afraid  is, — 
He  took  aim,  and  he  fired,  and  the  Cat  went  to  Hades. 

When  the  beast  had  been  killed  some  six  times  or  seven, 
The  cold  he  had  sent  Dr.  Jones  straight  to  heaven. 

With  two  lives  left, 

Of  but  seven  bereft, 

She  may  dance  where  his  corpse  'neath  the  turf  gently  laid  is. 
The  old  Cat  may  rejoice  without  fear  of  hot  Hades, 
She  may  warble  her  song  in  the  key  of  Z  flat, 

She  may  scoff,  she  may  laugh 

At  his  epitaph, 
"Set*  lie*  somtg  pr.  |onc*  tofjo  toa*  killed  b^  a 


P.  s.  — MORAL. 

When  this  tale  was  begun,  with  its  horrible  fun, 

I  had  morals  in  plenty, 

Some  fifteen  or  twenty. 

This  tale  now  is  done,  and  I  cannot  find  one ! 
Just  to  keep  you  from  thought  and  from  wearisome  dizziness, 
I  suggest  as  a  moral,  "  Mind  your  own  business  ! " 


JOHN  AND  SUSIE. 


JOHN    AND    SUSIE. 

A   STORY  OF  THE  STAGE. 

BY  CHANDOS  FULTON. 
I. 

Y  friend  'Colton  was  one  of  those  quiet,  retiring, 
unostentatious  men,  whose  many  noble  qualities 
of  head  and  heart  are  not  discovered  except  in 
the  intimacy  of  friendship.  Wordsworth  must 
have  had  such  a  man  in  his  thoughts  when 
he  wrote  :  — 

"  He  is  as  retired  as  noontide  dew, 

Or  fountain  in  a  shady  grove ; 
And  you  must  love  him,  ere  to  you 
He  will  seem  worthy  of  your  love." 

Not  that,  like  the  snail,  my  friend  Colton  kept  within  his 
shell,  and  had  to  be  sought  (though  in  his  slow,  methodic 
manner  there  was  some  analogy  between  him  and  that  tes- 
tacean)  ;  for  he  was  not,  by  any  means,  a  man  to  be 
"drawn  out,"  as  the  phrase  is,  by  any  species  of  social  in- 
quisition, and  had  to  be  known  to  be  appreciated.  His 
almost  childish  simplicity  and  candor  of  *  manner,  and  cor- ' 
rect,  straightforward  conduct,  left  a  favorable  impression  on 
all  with  whom  he  had  business  intercourse  ;  but  few  gave 


3/0  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

him  credit  for  the  high-mindedness,  the  delicacy  of  senti- 
ment, warmth  of  heart,  and  cultured  refinement  which  con- 
stituted the  sterling  worth  of  the  man.  He  cultivated  few 
friendships ;  not  that  he  did  not  value  the  love  of  his  fel- 
low-beings, or  was  slow  to  discover  good  in  others,  or  was 
distrustful  of  humanity,  or  was  reserved  and  retiring  from 
any  motives  of  pride,  but  because  his  affection  was  too  sin- 
cere and  cogent  to  be  diffusive. 

Such  men  as  John  Colton  are  common,  although,  keeping 
within  the  intimacies  of  friendship,  they  are  little  known  ; 
and  it  is  seldom  that  such  beautiful,  though  passive  charac- 
ters are  employed  by  the  dramatist  or  novelist  in  the  elab- 
oration of  their  wonder-exciting  plots.  In  the  whirlpool  of 
society  they  are  sometimes  caught,  but  speedily  dashed  out, 
and  float  quickly  back  into  the  calmer  waters  of  domestic 
quiet.  Such  men  are  the  true  disciples  of  Him  who  died 
to  save  us ;  without  any  ostentation  they  are  continually 
doing  good,  and  showing  by  their  own  happiness  that  it  is 
easy  to  make  life  enjoyable. 

Colton  did  not  marry  till  late  in  life,  because,  for  many 
years,  his  early  widowed  mother,  and  his  two  sisters,  both 
younger  than  himself,  were  dependent  on  him  for  support  ; 
for  his  father  had  always  lived  up  to  every  cent  that  he 
made,  and,  dying  shortly  after  his  son  had  gone  into  busi- 
ness, had  left  his  family  entirely  destitute.  Besides,  he  did 
not  believe  that  a  man  ought  to  marry  until  he  could  see 
his  way  to  comfortably  provide  for  a  wife  ;  and  it  was  not 
until  he  had  seen  his  sisters  married  and  settled,  and  pur- 
chased a  home  for  himself,  and  installed  his  mother  there- 
in, that  he  was  in  this  position  ;  and  then  he  was  a  staid 


JOHN   AND    SUSIE.  371 

middle-aged  man,  with  plenty  of  ideas  (or  ideals  ?)  on  the 
subject  of  marriage,  but  no  definite  purpose. 

A  great  war  now  agitated  the  country,  and  his  thoughts 
were  of  Mars  rather  than  of  Venus. 

A  man  of  his  nature  naturally  shrinks  from  the  semi-barbaric 
life  of  the  soldier ;  but  he  would  have  enlisted  and  "  gone 
to  the  war,"  had  not  his  friends  convinced  him  he  would 
be  of  more  service  at  home,  —  in  many  ways,  such  a  care- 
ful, thoughtful,  reliable  man  would  be  useful  in  such  a  time 
of  trust,  judgment,  and  energy.  He  raised  and  subscribed 
funds  to  recruit  regiments  ;  he  prepared  banquets  for  sol- 
diers passing  through  the  city  en  route  to  the  seat  of  war  ; 
he  got  up  "war-meetings"  to  inspire  the  people  and  en- 
courage the  men  in  the  field.  In  the  great  Sanitary  Fair 
he  was  a  leading  spirit ;  indeed,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his 
exertions,  the  great  Christian  enterprise  would  never  have 
been  initiated  in  his  city.  He  was  chairman  of  various 
committees,  and  devoted  his  whole  time  to  the  work.  He 
was  in  the  building  from  morning  until  night,  superintending 
and  assisting  the  arrangements.  He  was  thus  brought  into 
acquaintanceship  with  many  ladies  and  gentlemen  whom  he 
otherwise  would  probably  never  have  met,  for  all  gathered 
together  and  united  in  the  Samaritan's  work  ;  but,  unmind- 
ful of  them,  he  attended  to  his  business  in  his  usual  quiet 
way,  accomplishing  a  great  deal  and  saying  nothing  about  it. 

It  was  at  this  time  and  in  this  way  that  he  met 
Miss  Susie  Jones,  a  petite,  pretty,  elfish  brunette,  whose 
sharp  black  eyes  flashed  mischievously  as  she  said  some- 
thing sarcastic  and  smart.  And  Susie,  who  was  very  viva- 
cious and  affable,  was  always  saying  something  sarcastic  and 


372  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

smart,  now  bringing  the  laugh  on  herself  as  well  as  her 
neighbor,  and  some  might  have  thought,  indeed  some  openly 
declared,  that  she  was  malicious  and  cruel-hearted,  and  de- 
lighted to  tantalize  and  provoke  people  by  her  remarks : 
these  did  her  great  injustice  ;  they  misjudged  her  entirely. 
She  was  kind-hearted  and  sympathetic,  and  in  every  respect 
a  lovable  character ;  but  she  had  been  endowed  with  the 
talent  of  sarcasm  and  repartee,  which  she  frequently  indulged, 
often  inconsiderately,  it  must  be  admitted,  but  from  an  inno- 
cent, fun-loving  spirit,  and  not  from  any  cruel  feeling.  To 
many  this  characteristic  was  a  sort  of  spice  or  seasoning  of 
the  dainty  little  dish,  and  rendered  her  society  charming.  It 
gave  her  individuality.  If  it  had  not  been  for  this  gift  of 
epigram  and  repartee,  which  many  dreaded,  she  would  fre- 
quently, in  the  goodness  of  her  heart,  have  been  imposed  on. 
Once  Susie  said  something  that  was  quite  cutting  to  Col- 
ton,  which  hurt  his  feelings  very  much,  although  no  one 
would  have  thought  so,  for  he  was  not  a  man  to  show  his 
trouble  any  more  than  his  many  good  qualities,  except  when 
occasion  developed  them.  Susie  soon  perceived  the  effect  of 
her  words,  and  in  her  regret  at  having  so  thoughtlessly  ut- 
tered them,  she  suffered  greater  heart-pangs  than  those  she 
had  inflicted,  although  John  was  extremely  sensitive.  She  felt 
very  sorry,  yet  could  not  well  make  an  apology,  as  there  was 
no  excuse  for  one  ;  but  she  resolved  to  make  all  repara- 
tion in  her  power  in  the  future  by  kindness  and  deference 
to  him,  as  she  recognized  in  him  a  superior  man.  When 
she  wanted  some  one  to  aid  her  in  tying  the  evergreen 
festoon  over  the  table,  she  asked  John's  assistance,  instead 
of  calling  rich  young  Mr.  Thomas,  whom  all  the  girls  were 


JOHN    AND    SUSIE.  373 

after,  but  who  had  sooner  come  to  her  than  to  any  one 
else  ;  and  so  she  favored  or  honored  him  on  every  occa- 
sion, much  to  the  concealed  merriment  of  many  who  thought 
she  was  doing  this  merely  to  trouble  him.  The  difference 
in  their  ages,  his  being  over  double  hers,  prevented  any 
matrimonial  surmises. 

A  pleasant  acquaintance  sprang  up  between  John  and  Susie, 
which,  »as  the  fair  drew  to  a  close,  ripened  into  friend- 
ship, and  they  began  to  discover  each  other's  many  good 
characteristics.  John  recognized  the  fact  that  there  was  none 
of  the  sharpness  in  her  heart  that  there  was  on  her  tongue  ; 
that  she  liked  to  plague  him  purely  from  innocent  fun  and 
not  maliciousness  ;  and  she  was  equally  quick  to  learn  that 
his  plain  appearance  and  quiet  manner  were  accompanied 
by  the  noblest  characteristics  of  man. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  that  Sanitary  Fair,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve John  ever  would  have  married,  —  and,  of  course,  he  and 
Susie  were  married. 

They  were  married  in  the  springtime,  and  their  bridal  tour 
was  extended  throughout  the  summer  to  the  fall,  in  travel- 
ling over  the  New  England  and  Western  States.  John  had 
long  thought,  and  Susie  coincided  with  him,  that  one  should 
see  the  beauties  of  his  own  land  before  viewing  those  of  the 
Old  World  ;  and  this  is  why  they  travelled  over  this  country, 
instead  of  joining  in  the  fashionable  hegira  across  the  ocean. 
Susie  had  previously,  with  her  parents,  travelled  over  a  por- 
tion of  the  tour  ;  but  John  had  always,  from  necessity,  been 
kept  closely  to  business,  and  could  not  until  now  take  the 
time,  or  much  less  afford  the  trip. 


374  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

II. 

WHEN  they  returned  in  the  fall,  Mrs.  Colton  had  the  house 
ready  for  their  occupancy,  and  immediately  abdicated  in 
favor  of  the  younger  Mrs.  C,  having  promised  to  visit  in 
turn  her  two  daughters. 

John  and  Susie  had  gotten  along  together  admirably,  and  he 
did  not  believe  anything  ever  could  occur  which  would  mar 
their  happiness ;  such  an  idea  never  entered  her  head,  for 
from  temperament  she  was  always  accustomed  to  look  on 
the  bright  side  of  the  picture. 

It  is  true,  John,  quite  sensitive  now  about  his  age,  was 
nettled  somewhat  when  quizzed  about  his  marrying  a  girl 
young  enough  to  be  his  daughter,  and  testily  changed  the 
conversation  ;  but  when  the  remark  was  made  to  Susie,  she 
would  ask,  — 

"  Now,  would   you   like    to  know  why  I  married  John  ? " 

"Yes,"  of  course  all  those  questioned  answered. 

11  Why,  because  I  loved  him  !  Was  n't  that  reason 
enough  ? " 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  "  John  would  exclaim,  if  within  hearing.  "  But 
that  is  not  the  reason  she  gives  me !  Why  do  you  think 
she  tells  me  she  married  me  ? " 

"  For  your  money  ? "  some  one  would  venture  to  re- 
mark. 

"  Pshaw  ! " 

"  O,  I  was  merely  joking,  of  course  !     What  then  ?  " 

"  Let  her  explain  herself.  What  was  it,  or  rather  why 
was  it,  Susie,  dear  ?  " 

"  Why,    because    he    asked    me ! "    Susie    would    laughingly 


JOHN   AND   SUSIE.  375 

reply  ;  and  in  time  these  unpleasant  remarks  no  longer  an- 
noyed John. 

He  learned  to  bear  the  quizzing  of  Susie,  and  when  in  the 
mood  she  was  unmerciful. 

John  and  Susie  went  much  to  the  theatre,  their  cultivated 
tastes  enabling  them  to  appreciate  good  performances ;  and  at 
a  certain  establishment  a  higher  order  of  entertainment  was 
given,  and  this  they  frequently  attended. 

One  of  the  leading  actors  in  the  company,  whom  they  both 
admired,  was  about  the  same  age  as  John,  as  Susie  learned 
from  a  reply  in  the  "  Answers  to  Correspondents "  in  a 
weekly  paper ;  but  he  looked  young  enough  almost  to  be 
his  son,  on  the  stage ;  and  as  he  always  wore  the  same 
curly  wig  in  public,  few  outside  of  the  theatre  knew  it  was 
one  ;  and  beside  him,  off  the  stage,  John,  with  his  clear,  full, 
ruddy  cheeks,  and  slightly  gray,  though  luxuriant  hair,  was 
decidedly  the  youngest  looking,  for  the  other,  prematurely 
broken  by  the  arduous  labors  of  his  profession,  showed  his 
years  in  his  bearing  and  face  as  well  as  in  his  scant  capil- 
lary covering. 

Susie  could  not  refrain  from  quizzing  John  about  the  better 
looks  of  the  actor  ;  and  as  often  as  they  went  to  the  theatre, 
she  as  frequently  alluded  to  the  subject,  never  supposing  that 
he  took  the  matter  to  heart. 

John,  however,  was  annoyed,  and  evinced  the  fact,  and  his 
mischievous,  though  devoted  little  wife  did  not  spare  him. 

He  availed  himself  of  the  excuse  of  a  shower  or  any  trivi- 
ality not  to  take  her  to  the  theatre  ;  and  she,  surmising 
the  reason,  provokingly  declared  he  was  jealous  of  the  actor. 

It  soon  became  evident  to  his  friends  that  there  was  some- 


376  LOTOS   LEAVES. 

thing  on  John's  mind  that  was  worrying  him,  in  his  set,  sor- 
rowful features,  intent  though  unattentive  manner,  and  occa- 
sional half-suppressed  sigh. 

He  managed,  however,  to  assume  his  wonted  smile  and 
cheery  manner  in  the  presence  of  his  wife,  and  so  she  did 
not  notice  the  change  in  him  which*  was  perceptible  to 
others. 

A  few  days  of  mental  worry  will  wear  a  man  more  than 
weeks  of  physical  pain.  In  a  few  weeks  John  really  did  be- 
gin to  look  aged. 

"  O,  I  might  have  known  it  was  no  match  for  me ! "  he 
exclaimed  one  day,  evidently  unconscious  or  obvious  of  my 
presence  at  the  adjoining  desk. 

I  instantly  decided  to  avail  myself  of  the  exclamation  to- 
ask  an  explanation,  at  the  risk  of  being  considered  imperti- 
nent, in  the  hope  that  I  might  be  able  to  cheer  him  up. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?"    I  inquired. 

"  O,  nothing ! "  he  answered  hastily,  recalled  to  himself. 
He  arose,  took  his  hat,  and  was  about  leaving,  when  I  de- 
tained him,  alluded  to  the  changes  perceptible  in  him,  and 
advised  him  to  confide  in  me,  assuring  him  that  a  confession 
of  ojie's  sorrows  or  crimes  alike  relieves  the  mind. 

At  first  he  insisted  I  was  entirely  mistaken,  but  after  a 
while  confided  to  me  his  trouble. 

I  — I  knew  the  actor  off  the  stage,  minus  his  youthful  wig 
and  mustache :  I  shocked  him  by  laughing  outright  in  his 
face  ;  I  could  not  help  it. 

"  I  don't  blame  her  !  "  he  observed  with  desperation.  "  Of 
course  he  would  be  better  preserved  than  /  am  ;  he  has  had 
nothing  to  do  all  his  life  but  to  play-act !  " 


JOHN    AND    SUSIE.  377 

"  Nothing  to  do  but  to  '  play-act '  !  That  is  enough  to 
do !  His  life  has  been  more  arduous  than  yours,  my  dear 
friend ! " 

But  "  outsiders  "  have  the  idea  that  "  play-acting "  is  so  easy 
and  simple  that  there  is  no  work  or  wear  in  it  •  that,  in  fact, 
an  actor's  life  is  one  long-drawn-out  pleasure  ;  and  it  was  in 
vain  that  I  endeavored  to  argue  the  point  with  John. 

"  Look  at  that  man  !  "  he  would  exclaim  ;  and,  supposing 
that  he  was  more  familiar  with  the  actor's  career  than  I  was, 
though  acquainted  with  him,  I  dropped  the  subject. 

I  went  home  to  dine  with  him,  and  found  that  Susie  had 
added  to  her  collection  of  photographs  of  celebrities  one  of 
the  venerable  actor  in  a  popular  modern  character,  in  which 
he  appeared  in  all  the  glory  of  his  curly  wig,  luxuriant  mus- 
tache, etc.,  etc. 

Of  course,  while  showing  this  she  did  not  miss  the  oppor- 
tunity to  give  a  sly  thrust  at  John,  and  I  spoke  to  her  about 
the  actor's  art  of  "making  up,"  and  how  deceptive  in  such 
ca^es  appearances  were,  mentioning  an  actor  whose  mus- 
tache in  the  daytime  is  decidedly  sandy,  but  which  is  jet- 
black  on  the  stage.  John  being  in  another  room,  I  asked  if 
she^  did  not  think  she  worried  him  in  thus  quizzing  him 
about  his  age,  and  she  said  no  ;  for,  it  must  be  remembered, 
he  carefully  concealed  his  vexation  of  spirit  from  her. 

"  Don't  blame  her ! "  he  said  afterwards,  —  "  don't  blame  her  ! 
O  no,  she  does  not  think  of  me  ;  this  comes  from  the  heart, 
and  she  is  enamored  of  him  ;  if  it  was  merely  a  thought,  a 
matter  of  the  head,  she  would  think  of  rne  as  well ! " 

"Nonsense,  man!" 

He  would  not,  however,  listen   to  reason  ;   he  was   satisfied 


378  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

his  wife  no  longer  loved  him,  —  at  least  as  she  had ;  she  was 
enamored  of  the  actor. 

An  idea  occurred  to  me.  I  proposed  to  John,  supposing 
he  was  acquainted  with  the  actor,  to  have  him  to  dine  with 
him  at  his  house. 

"  I  don't  know  him  ! "    he  replied  angrily. 

"  I  will  introduce  you  ! " 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  him  ! " 

"  Be  advised,  my  friend." 

"  You  are  mad  to  propose  this ! "  he  responded  indignantly. 

We  were  walking  down  town  ;  whom  should  I  see  coming 
up  but  the  actor  ? 

As  he  approached,  I  perceived  that  John  did  not  recognize 
him  off  the  stage ;  and  I  boldly  introduced  them,  regardless 
of  the  probable  consequences. 

John  was  completely  taken  aback,  and  looked  at  me  twice 
before  accepting  the  actor's  proffered  hand,  as  if  to  assure 
himself  he  had  not  misunderstood  me. 

After  a  few  pleasant  words  (on  my  part),  we  separated  and 
passed  on. 

John  burst  out  laughing  as  soon  as  out  of  hearing  of  the 
receding  actor.  I  then  explained  to  him  how  completely,  by 
the  aid  of  art,  the  theatrical  artists  could,  and  are  often  com- 
pelled by  the  exigencies  of  their  profession  to,  metamorphose 
themselves,  great  actors  making  the  matter  a  study. 

"O,  what  a  joke  on  me!"    he  exclaimed. 

"  You  can  make  it  a  joke  on  Susie,"  I  ventured  to  sug- 
gest. 

"  How  ? " 

"By    presenting   him    to    her,"  I    replied.      "He    is    not    all 


JOHN   AND   SUSIE.  379 

that  fancy  painted  or  the  sun  photographed,  and  you'll  have 
the  laugh  on  her  !  " 

He  acquiesced,  and  a  day  was  appointed  for  the  dinner.  I 
carried  the  invitation  to  the  actor,  who  was  an  educated, 
well-bred  gentleman,  and  prevailed  on  him  to  accept. 

Susie  was  not  altogether  pleased  at  the  idea  of  meeting 
the  actor,  but  appeared  in  her  newest  and  finest  dress  at  the 
dinner. 

I  arrived  early,  in  order  to  witness  the  introduction.  If 
her  husband  was  taken  aback  by  the  difference  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  actor  off  and  on  the  stage,  she  was  dumb- 
founded ;  for  it  was  several  minutes  before  she  could  speak. 

After  a  very  pleasant  dinner  I  told  "  the  story,"  having  pre- 
viously obtained  John's  permission  to  do  so ;  and  it  was  as 
much  enjoyed  by  Susie  as  by  the  actor,  who  recalled  the 
anecdote  of  Garrick,  on  which  Robertson's  charming  adapta- 
tion is  founded.  Now  the  actor  is  a  welcome  visitor  to  the 
Coltons,  and  has  told  them  enough  of  his  professional  career 
to  convince  even  Mr.  C.  that  "play-acting"  is  arduous  and 
vexatious. 


THE  THREE  GREAT  SYMPHONISTS. 


THREE  GREAT  SYMPHONISTS. 

HAYDN,   MOZART,  AND  BEETHOVEN. 
BY   JAMES    PECH. 

O  art  has  perhaps  undergone  more  various  changes, 
or  has  continued,  from  its  revival  in  the  Middle 
Ages  up  to  the  present  time,  in  such  a  constant 
state  of  progression,  as  music.  The  later  im- 
provements in  the  instrumental  kind,  both  with 
respect  to  performance  and  composition,  are  alone  sufficient 
to  demonstrate  the  fact.  The  strongest  proof  of  the  gradual 
perfection  of  this  branch  is  discoverable  in  the  increasing 
estimation  in  which  the  symphony  is  held ;  and  the  cause 
of  this  very  general  tendency  towards  instrumental  music 
is  to  be  traced  to  the  splendid  productions  of  genius,  that 
are  now  sent  almost  daily  into  the  musical  world.  In- 
deed, knowledge  and  taste  are  even  more  universally  diffused 
by  the  reproduction  of  the  greatest  masterpieces  in  every 
variety  of  shape  ;  and  when  we  have  had  such  men  as  Cle- 
menti,  Hummel,  and  Liszt,  lending  their  superior  talents  to 
the  arrangement  of  symphonies  for  the  piano-forte,  by  which 
one  of  the  highest  forms  in  musical  art  is  widely  distributed 
amongst  every  portion  of  the  community,  we  compare  them 
to  philosophers  who,  by  microscopic  observations,  bring  to 


3^4  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

common  view  natural  beauties  known  previously  but  to  the 
few. 

The  symphony  is,  perhaps,  as  strong  an  instance  as  can  be 
cited  of  the  rapidity  and  extent  of  the  improvement  of  music 
within  the  last  one  hundred  and  fifty  years.  In  the  beginning 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  this  species  of  composition  was  un- 
known ;  and  now,  towards  the  close  of  the  nineteenth,  to  what 
a  pitch  of  excellence  has  it  arrived  !  This  has  all  been  effected 
by  the  talents  of  a  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven  ;  and  sub- 
sequently by  Mendelssohn,  Sphor,  and  Schumann. 

To  some  it  may  be  instructive,  and  it  may  not  be  uninter- 
esting to  others,  if  we  attempt  an  analysis  of  the  different 
means  by  which  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven,  in  their  time, 
produced  such  wonderful  effects,  compare  their  styles,  and 
endeavor  to  describe  the  particular  beauties  of  each.  We  are 
apt  to  consider  and  to  believe  that  music  is  a  language  in 
which  the  mind  and  character  of  the  composer  are  as  clearly 
portrayed  as  is  the  genius  of  the  poet  in  his  works.  The 
one  speaks  as  forcibly  by  means  of  notes  as  the  other  by 
words,  to  those  who  love  and  understand  them.  A  person 
enthusiastically  fond  of  the  philosophic  Mendelssohn  was  asked, 
"  How  can  you  admire  a  man  so  much  with  whom  you  never 
had  an  hour's  conversation?"  The  reply  was,  "I  have  con- 
versed with  him  for  months  past  through  his  '  Elijah.' "  May 
we  not,  then,  by  studying  the  symphonies  of  Haydn,  Mozart, 
and  Beethoven,  discover  the  powers  which  wrought  such  won- 
derful effects,  and  learn  to  revere  the  superiority  of  the  minds 
that  produced  them  ?  If  we  draw  a  comparison  between  these 
minds,  we  shall  not  find  much  difficulty  in  tracing,  nor  per- 
haps in  accounting  for,  the  distinguishing  features  of  the  style 
adopted  by  each. 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS. 

The  regularity  of  Haydn's  middle  and  later  life,  his  habits 
of  neatness  and  precision,  the  polished  and  cheerful  tone  of 
his  music,  denote  a  mind  regulated  by  certain  fixed  principles 
of  action,  and  warmed  by  a  naturally  fertile  and  elegant  fancy. 
As  circumstances  of  early  youth  tend  principally  to  the  for- 
mation of  character,  so  the  privation  and  restraint  to  which 
he  was  subjected  at  this  period  probably  prevented  his  imagi- 
nation from  bursting  forth,  and  delayed  its  luxuriance  ;  but  at 
the  same  time  they  confirmed  him  in  habits  of  industry, 
strengthened  his  powers  of  independent  reason  and  judgment, 
and  thus  prepared  him  for  an  after  period,  when,  aided  by 
concurring  circumstances,  he  became  the  inventor  of  that 
melodious  conversation,  that  fine  combination  of  various  and 
beautiful  effects,  —  the  symphony.  Mozart,  on  the  contrary, 
nurtured  in  the  sunshine  of  affluence,  enjoying  the  warmest 
encouragement,  and  surrounded  by  every  possible  stimulant 
to  genius  from  his  earliest  years,  was  of  a  totally  different 
mould.  His  ardent  mind  modelled  itself  by  the  luxury  to 
which  he  was  a  constant  witness,  and  by  the  life  of  ease  and 
pleasure  which  his  circumstances  allowed  him  to  lead.  His 
music  is  accordingly  distinguished  by  its  richness  and  voluptu- 
ousness. He  was  naturally  indolent,  —  he  wrote  only  "when 
the  fit  was  on  him,"  —  and  it  is  probable  that  had  he  lived 
before  Haydn,  we  might  never  have  possessed  his  splendid 
symphonies  composed  after  the  model  of  the  latter.  By  these 
remarks  we  do  not  mean  to  detract  from  the  merit  of  Mozart ; 
his  genius  was  of  a  kind  not  to  be  daunted  by  obstacles ; 
but  it  is  probable  that  from  the  peculiarly  opposite  situations 
of  the  composers,  perfectly  opposite  effects  were  produced. 
There  was,  moreover,  a  melancholy  in  Mozart's  temperament, 


386  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

—  prompted  perhaps  by  an  overwrought  imagination,  —  and 
he  possessed  a  more  ardent,  though  not  such  constant  and 
unbending,  enthusiasm  as  Haydn  in  the  cultivation  of  his  art. 
There  cannot  well  be  a  greater  contrast  than  between  these 
two  masters  and  the  highest  follower  of  their  steps,  Beethoven, 
both  as  regards  character  and  style ;  yet  he  was  the  scholar 
of  Haydn.  Beethoven,  however,  appears  to  have  imbibed 
from  his  master  little  more 'than  the  technical  means  which 
enabled  him  to  follow  his  own  path  to  fame,  and  which  he 
opened  through  obstacles  that  would  have  dismayed  any  but 
so  strong  a  character  as  his  was.  He  neither  possessed  the 
luxury  of  Mozart  nor  the  elegance  of  Haydn,  but  from  his 
subjects,  which  are  by  far  more  simple  though  scarcely  so 
beautiful  as  theirs,  he  has  worked  out  quite  as  striking  and 
more  novel  effects  than  either.  His  music  is  marked  by 
originality,  strength  of  design,  and  romantic  grandeur.  His 
great  predecessors  arrived  nearer  perfection  in  the  polish  of 
their  productions,  but  in  conception  we  apprehend  (in  the 
symphony)  he  has  aspired  to  heights  more  sublime  than  either 
of  them.  The  source  of  this  is  his  extreme  originality,  or 
rather  eccentricity,  which  at  the  same  time  excites  astonish- 
ment and  lays  him  open  to  the  seventy  of  criticism.  At  that 
time  Haydn,  we  are  told,  censured  this  quality,  and  was  of 
opinion  that  if  not  curbed  by  a  nice  discrimination,  and  guided 
by  a  just  idea  of  effects,  it  would  be  likely  to  lead  the  way 
to  a  wrong  estimate  of  the  beautiful.  The  defects  of  a  great 
artist  in  any  line  are  always  the  soonest  imitated  and  dis- 
seminated, and  thus  it  has  been  with  the  eccentricity  of 
Beethoven.  They  whom  his  original  vein  and  his  astonishing 
force  delight  are  little  aware  of  the  power  required  to  pursue 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  387 

his  course.  The  mere  effort  exhausts  the  strength  allotted  to 
common  natures,  and  many  who  have  tried  his  arms  have 
proved  only  their  own  "  ineffectual  fires."  At  the  same  time, 
the  disposition  to  extravagance  seems  to  have  grown  by  what 
it  fed  on  in  the  mighty  master  himself,  for  all  propensities 
are  increased  by  indulgence,  as  some  of  his  later  works  afford 
evident  proofs  of  the  dangerous  tendency  of  the  habit  of  ex- 
aggeration. 

In  the  regular  process  of  our  essay,  however,  we  shall  pro- 
ceed to  examine  the  foundation  on  which  Haydn  raised  his 
splendid  superstructure,  and  for  this  purpose  we  must  refer  to 
the  early  periods  of  the  cultivation  of  instrumental  music. 
The  overture,  which  is  the  earliest  indication  of  anything  like 
the  symphony,  and  almost  of  any  species  of  instrumental  mu- 
sic, owes  its  origin  to  Lully.  About  the  middle  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  he  composed  it  for  the  Bande  des  petits  Violons 
of  Louis  XIV.  Before  his  time,  in  the  few  trios  and  quar- 
tettes, which  were  composed  simply  for  the  violin  and  vio- 
loncello, the  other  parts  were  generally  subordinate  to  the  first 
violin.  But  Lully,  in  his  compositions,  allotted  to  each  instru- 
ment an  almost  equally  prominent  part  to  sustain  ;  he  added 
to  the  number  by  drums,  etc. ;  and  lastly,  by  the  introduction 
of  discords,  he  varied  the  monotony  of  the  former  system  of 
composition,  as  well  as  by  the  genius  and  originality  of  his 
passages  themselves.  Until  the  appearance  of  Lully's  over- 
tures, such  a  prelude  was  never  thought  of,  and,  what  is  even 
more  singular,  by  their  novelty  and  excellence,  they  continued 
for  a  long  time  to  hold  their  place  and  pre-eminence,  and  were 
played  before  operas  composed  by  Vinci,  Leo,  and  Pergolesi, 
nearly  a  century  after  the  date  of  their  original  production. 


388  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

Scarlatti  was  the  next  composer  of  overtures.  Then  followed 
the  Concerti  grossi  of  Cbrelli  and  Vivaldi,  and  lastly  the  con- 
certos and  overtures  of  Handel,  Bach,  Jomelli,  Porpora,  and 
Bononcini,  with  others  of  less  note.  In  all  these,  however/ the 
fugue  was  the  principal  object,  and  one  prominent  part  was 
given  to  the  violin  or  some  single  instrument.  Of  all  the  old 
masters  we  should  say  the  Padre  Martini  is  one  to  whom 
Haydn  may  be  the  best  compared,  if  he  can  be  justly  likened 
to  any.  But  truly  sublime  and  unequalled  as  they  were  in 
certain  branches  of  their  art,  at  what  a  distance  were  they 
left  by  Haydn  in  the  composition  of  instrumental  music !  By 
him  were  the  peculiar  properties  and  characteristics  of  every 
instrument  developed ;  by  him  each  was  made  to  speak  in 
its  own  melodious  language  to  the  heart  and  the  imagination. 
It  was  given  to  him  to  reply  to  the  query,  "  Que  veux  tu 
senate  ? "  for  he  made  the  symphony  descriptive.  He  it  was 
who  first  avowed  that  he  formed  a  little  story  as  a  guide  to  the 
workings  of  his  spirit.  In  truth,  the  design  of  Haydn's  sympho- 
nies is  more  clearly  developed,  and  his  ideas  can  be  better 
understood  than  either  Mozart's  or  Beethoven's.  This  it  is,  per- 
haps, that  renders  them  more  generally  pleasing,  assisted  by  the 
lively  tone  of  feeling  that  to  a  certain  degree  pervades 
them  throughout.  Thus  their  characteristics  are  clearness  of 
design,  purity  and  elegance  of  taste,  yet  not  without  depth 
of  conception,  and  they  are  always  tempered  by  a  nice  and 
judicious  perception-  of  effects,  which  never  allowed  him  to 
wander  beyond  the  sight  or  transgress  the  bounds  of  sym- 
pathy in  'his  audience.  The  hearer  is  not,  perhaps,  so  raised 
as  by  Beethoven,  or  so  deeply  touched  as  by  Mozart,  but  the 
feelings  never  sink  below  a  certain  equable  and  just  level ; 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  389 

the  attention  is  never  strained  to  understand  him,  and  the 
ear  is  always  interested,  always  satisfied.  He  is  original,  but 
never  eccentric  ;  and  though  never  dazzling,  refined  and  deli- 
cate to  the  highest  degree.  The  general  analysis  of  one  of 
his  symphonies  will,  perhaps,  illustrate  our  ideas  on  the  sub- 
ject more  clearly,  and  we  select  the  Seventh,  because  it  is 
most  generally  known,  and,  as  it  appears  to  us,  comprises  all  the 
distinguishing  traits  of  his  style. 

The  short  opening  adagio  is  in  D  minor.  In  the  Encyclo- 
pedic de  Musique  there  is  an  article  on  the  symphony  by 
Monmigny,  who  decides  that  the  character  of  this  movement 
is  of  a  religious  cast,  and  he  interprets  it  to  be  a  prayer. 
In  this  view,  however,  we  cannot  agree  ;  for  if  the  composer 
had  commenced  his  work  in  such  a  frame  of  mind,  it  is 
scarcely  possible  that  in  one  single  page  he  should  have  so 
completely  divested  himself  of  the  emotions  which  must  have 
been  awakened,  as  to  take  up  his  allegro  in  a  manner  wholly 
unmarked  by  elevated  feeling.  It  is  difficult  but  not  impossi- 
ble to  trace  the  succession  of  ideas  in  the  mind  of  another, 
and  as  contrast,  though  not  unconnected,  is  generally  aimed  at 
in  the  adagio  and  allegro  of  a  symphony,  we  should  rather 
imagine  the  opening  of  the  present  to  have  been  constructed 
upon  a  less  exalted  foundation.  The  subject  is  contained  in 
three  measures,  the  last  of  which 


390 


LOTOS   LEAVES. 


consists  in  responses  between  the  higher  and  lower  instru- 
ments ;  the  whole  of  it  has  the  character  of  expostulation, 
which  is  beautifully  expressed  by  the  ascent  of  semitones, 
commencing  after  it  has  modulated  into  F  major.  That  this 
expostulation  succeeds  in  its  object  is  evident,  from  the  piano 
repetition  of  the  opening  burst,  and  from  its  subsequent 
transition  from  D  minor  to  the  softened  key  o'f  E  flat.  This 
is  a  beautiful  idea.  To  the  ordinary  observer  the  movement 
may  seem  to  present  nothing  particularly  worth  notice  in  its 
construction.  What  then  does  it  contain  that  finds  its  way  to 
every  heart  ?  Simplicity,  superior  taste,  and  variety  ;  for  it 
will  be  seen  that,  although  short  and  constantly  repeated,  the 
subject  is  so  exquisitely  diversified  as  never  to  appear  monot- 
onous. This  is  another  capital  distinction  of  Haydn's  style, 
though  he  can  scarcely  be  said  to  possess  it  to  the  same  de- 
gree as  Mozart. 

The  allegro    opens  with  a  graceful  and  winning  subject    in 


D  major,  developed  by  the  stringed  instruments,  and  followed 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS. 

by  a  spirited  tutti.  It  is  then  reproduced  in  A  major,  and 
with  his  usual  care  to  prevent  sameness,  the  accompaniments 
are  varied.  But  how  manifold  are  the  resources  of  art,  and 
yet  what  slender  means  does  it  require  to  produce  the  finest 
effect ! 

The  next  subject  which  the  composer  selects  is  merely  the 
second  and  third  measures  of  his  first.  This  displays  his 
unity  and  clearness  of  design.  Although  this  movement  is  of 
a  light  and  exhilarating  character,  the  connection  is  still  to  be 
kept  up  between  it  and  the  adagio,  and  the  new  subject  par- 
takes of  its  character  just  so  -much  as  to  awaken  the  same 
train  of  ideas,  though  less  vividly.  The  response  is  made  by 
the  basses,  and  this  serves  as  another  link  in  the  chain,  whilst 
the  variations  of  the  passage  by  the  wind  instruments,  the 
beautiful  conversation  maintained  between  them,  and  the  bril- 
liant keys  through  which  it  modulates,  continue  the  elevated 
state  of  the  mind,  and  keep  both  the  intellect  and  the  ear  in 
constant  expectation  and  interest. 

At  length  the  commencement  is  resumed,  and  with  what 
ease  and  brilliancy  are  the  two  themes  (from  their  intimate 
connection)  worked  up  together  ?  During  the  first  pages 
the  former  becomes  the  groundwork  for  the  same  tutti  which 
opens  the  movement ;  a  few  measures  before  its  conclusion, 
the  latter  is  heard  from  the  wind  instruments  ;  it  then  forms 
a  few  measures  of  beautiful  contrast,  leads  off  to  the  con- 
cluding tutti,  and  during  this  is  incorporated  with  the  first, 
and  closes  the  movement  with  proportionate  vigor  and  effect. 
It  is  perhaps  in  the  andante  that  Haydn's  power  lies  ;  for  in 
such  movements  there  is  mofe  room  for  the  display  of  his 
delicacy  and  taste.  His  theme  in  the  present  instance  is 


392 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 


soothing,     but    not    mournful,    and    is    made    so    prominent 
throughout  as  to  be  the  principal  object  in  the  picture. 


-f3- 


9        •      •      •  ^ ^- 


Indeed,  although  there  are  in  some  places  several  subjects 
moving  at  once,  yet  they  all  spring,  as  it  were,  from  one  root, 
and  are,  like  the  same  flower  in  its  various  stages  of  growth, 
all  different  modifications  of  the  same  beautiful  creation, 
whilst  it  continues,  like  its  prototype,  in  a  constant  state  of 
progression,  acquiring  at  every  fresh  period  of  its  existence 
some  addition  in  richness  and  beauty. 

It  is  evidently  the  design  of  the  composer  to  draw  the 
principal  attractions  of  this  movement  from  simplicity,  del- 
icacy of  expression,  and  fine  harmony.  Aware,  however,  of  the 
effect  and  almost  necessity  of  contrast,  he  has  ingeniously 
availed  himself  of  this  resource  without  departing  from  his 
original  plan.  Thus  he  has  reproduced  his  subject  in  a  minor 
key,  in  a  trio  between  the  flute,  oboe,  and  fagotto,  which  is 
followed  by  a  tutti ;  not  a  mere  union  to  produce  change  by 


THREE  GREAT  SYMPHONISTS. 


393 


the  contrast  of  tone,  but  the  addition  of  instruments,  each 
having  a  part  to  perform  that  is  necessary  to  the  general  design. 
That  good  taste,  however,  may  not  be  offended  by  an  instant 
return  to  the  theme,  after  this  burst,  the  composer  wins  his  way 
back  to  it  by  a  passage  "  fine  by  degrees  and  delicately  less," 
thus  displaying  exquisite  judgment  and  taste.  Being  fully 
aware  that  his  subject  was  of  too  nice  a  texture  to  bear  im- 
mediate or  violent  contrasts,  he  has  made  them  steal  gradually 
upon  the  ear,  and  in  the  same  manner  the  movement  fades 
away  at  the  conclusion.  The  genuine  master  has  adhered  to 
his  plan  and  to  the  character  of  his  air  ;  there  is  nothing 
abrupt,  nothing  incongruous,  —  all  is  smoothness  and  purity. 

Haydn  was  particularly  happy  in  the  composition  of  his 
minuets  and  trios.  As  these  movements  are  too  short  to  be 
susceptible  of  any  powerful  effects,  that  is  to  say,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  body  of  the  symphony,  they  should  consist  of 
fanciful  and  brilliant  traits  of  melody,  pleasing  for  their  nawett. 
They  may  be  compared  to  the  divertisemens  in  an  opera  ;  they 
produce  variety  and  captivate  the  ear,  whilst  they  afford  a 
point  of  repose  to  the  attention,  and  thus  the  hearer  is  pre- 
pared to  follow  the  composer  with  fresh  energy  through  his 
rondo.  Hadyn's  are  models  in  this  style. 

One  of  the  finest  proofs  of  genius  is  the  power  of  producing 
great  effects  by  simple  means.  The  subject  of  the  rondo  is 


99- 


394  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

introduced  on  a  pedale  bass ;  and  is .  taken  in  trio  by  the 
first  and  second  violin  and  tenor.  A  forte  of  two  notes 
follows,  sufficient  to  rouse  the  attention  of  the  audience  and 
produce  contrast ;  but  Haydn,  aware  of  the  quaintness  of  his 
subject,  has  treated  it  with  a  corresponding  singularity.  This 
forte,  which  has  but  one  note  for  the  trumpets  and  drums, 
has  for  answer  three  notes  from  the  first  violins ;  and  here  we 
must  observe  that, .  short  as  the  subject  is,  consisting  only 
of  thirteen  notes,  the  characters  of .  the  two  phrases  into 
which  it  is  divided  are  distinguished  through  the  whole  move- 
ment. But  that  which  is  susceptible  of  the  most  contrast, 
and  is  of  the  gravest  and  deepest  cast,  is  put  under  the  care 
of  the  corresponding  part  of  the  orchestra,  whilst  the  other, 
which  is  of  an  opposite  expression,  is  consigned  to  the  lighter 
instruments.  In  fact,  the  orchestra  may  almost  be  compared 
to  opposing  casuists,  engaged  in  illustrating  their  several 
opinions  of  the  same  question  in  different  ways, — the  serious 
and  the  gay.  The  entire  movement  is  by  this  means  rendered 
a  complete  conversation.  The  titttis  are  rare,  the  burden  of 
the  dialogue  being  alternately  borne  by  prominent  instru- 
ments, always  changing,  always  quaint,  always  interesting 
and  original.  Towards  the  end  the  combat  deepens,  and  in 
the  winding  up  the  composer  has  infused  into  his  treatment 
of  the  subject  all  the  force  and  fire  of  which  it  is  capable. 
He  had  previously  invested  it  with  enough  only  of  these 
qualities  to  prevent  monotony,  and  has  reserved  this  master- 
stroke till  he  has  presented  it  in  every  possible  guise.  The 
manner  is  by  turns  quaint,  lively,  persuasive,  decided ;  and 
at  last,  when  we  have  followed  these  transitions  with  increas- 
ing interest  through  all  their  diversity,  the  theme  bursts  upon 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  395 

us  full  of  vigor,  energy,  and  brilliancy,  at  a  time  when  we 
think  every  protean  change  has  been  exhausted.  Through 
all  this  variety,  however,  the  design  is  clearly  and  substantially 
maintained.  We  enter  into  the  composer's  ideas  as  we  do 
into  those  of  an  enlightened  person  in  conversation,  without 
effort  and  without  weariness.  His  melodies  dwell  in  the 
memory  ;  the  effects  produced  in  treating  them  are  impressed 
on  our  minds  ;  and  this,  after  all,  is  the  true  test  of  an  author's 
perfect  success. 

This  general  analysis  will  give  some  idea  of  the  mode  of 
construction  adopted  by  Haydn  in  all  his  symphonies.  By  a 
similar  examination  of  one  of  Mozart's  and  one  of  Beethoven's, 
it  is  our  object  to  ascertain  how  far  we  have  been  accurate 
in  our  description  of  the  principal  differences  in  the  three 
styles,  and  to  discover  if  any  improvements  have  been  made 
by  the  two  latter  in  the  models  left  them  by  the  illustrious 
inventor  of  the  symphony. 

If  the  orchestra  in  the  hands  of  Haydn  be  considered  as 
carrying  on  an  eloquent  and  enlightened  conversation,  under 
the  direction  of  Mozart  each  instrument  appears  to  speak  in 
the  language  of  a  beautifully  descriptive  poem.  We  have 
already  referred  to  the  opposite  circumstances  in  the  life  of 
the  two  composers,  which  we  conceive  tended  to  the  forma- 
tion of  two  totally  different  styles  ;  and  if  they  are  recalled, 
these  exemplifications  of  their  manner  will,  we  think,  be  found 
clear  and  expressive.  We  may  then  proceed  to  an  analysis 
of  Mozart's  Symphony  in  E  Flat. 

In  the  opening  adagio  the  principal  feature  is  contrast,  and 
the  design  appears  to  be  to  elevate  the  mind.  It  commences 
with  a  full  and  powerful  tutti,  succeeded  by  a  descending 


396  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

scale,  piano,  for  the  first  violin,  and  this  is  repeated  three 
times,  modulating  into  F  minor,  when  the  violin  has  a  syn- 
copated trait  of  melody  of  tender  expression.  The  running 
passages  are  then  resumed,  the  flute  varying  effect  by  a  few 
broken  notes,  and  the  drums,  trumpets,  and  horns  being  heard 
in  an  undertone.  Having  modulated  to  the  subdominant,  which 
is  sustained  by  the  violins  and  wind  instruments,  the  running 
passages  are  taken  up  by  the  tenors  and  basses.  But  here 
Mozart  consults  equally  both  the  character  of  his  instruments 
and  the  variety  which  he  is  ever  anxious  to  preserve,  and 
thus  the  scale  is  reproduced,  ascending,  and  with  the  differ- 
ence of  a  flat  seventh,  which  on  the  second  and  third  repe- 
tition is  augmented  by  that  of  a  flat  ninth,  while  the  instru- 
ments are  increased  and  break  off  as  abruptly  on  the  chord 
of  F  with  a  seventh  and  flat  ninth,  leaving  the  violins  and 
fagotti  to  close  the  movement  by  a  legato  passage  of  semi- 
tones of  a  wailing  expression.  In  this  movement  emotions  of 
a  totally  opposite  nature  and  yet  equally  strong  are  awakened. 
We  are  elevated,  we  are  awed,  we  are  softened,  and  these 
effects  are  wrought  nearly  by  the  same  passages  judiciously 
varied  and  employed.  What  Mozart  may  be  said  to  have 
chiefly  aimed  at  in  his  music  *  was  to  excite  the  different  pas- 
sions in  their  most  extreme  degrees,  and  this  is  the  principal 
distinction  between  him  and  Haydn.  The  latter  always  pre- 
serves a  certain  medium,  above  and  below  which  we  are 
seldom  either  elevated  or  depressed.  But  Mozart  revelled  with 
more  freedom  in  the  realms  of  fancy,  and  consequently  the 

*  It  must  be  remembered  that  our  remarks  are  entirely  confined  to  the  instru- 
mental music  of  these  composers.  The  same  reflections  will  not  so  strictly  apply 
to  their  compositions  for  the  voice. 


THREE  GREAT  SYMPHONISTS.        397 

feelings  are  more  alive  to  his  touches  than  the  judgment. 
To  support  this  position,  we  only  ask  the  reader  to  note  and 
recall  the  emotions  which  are  aroused  by  hearing  the  adagio 
to  Haydn's  Seventh  Symphony  and  those  which  arise  on  lis- 
tening to  that  we  have  just  analyzed,  and  to  compare  his 
sensations.  The  allegro,  introduced  by  a  melancholy  passage, 
is  legato  and  cantabile,  and  a  soothing  effect  is  imparted  to  it 
by  the  mellow  and  rich  tone  of  the  horns,  which  take  up 
the  first  strain  of  the  subject  in  answer  to  the  first  violin, 
the  second  being  answered  in  a  similar  manner  by  the  fagotti, 
with  the  same  effect. 

Here  there  is  a  link  in  the  chain  of  connection  between 
this  movement  and  the  adagio.  The  descending  scales  which 
there  form  the  principal  feature  are  again  introduced,  com- 
bined, however,  by  passages  of  a  bold  and  decided  character. 
One  of  Mozart's  greatest  beauties  is  the  power  which  he  pos- 
sesses of  reproducing  one  idea  in  so  many  and  yet  such 
equally  beautiful  forms,  and  the  present  is  a  striking  example. 
We  have  already  shown  that  these  simple  passages,  by  a  slight 
change,  were  made  to  answer  two  purposes  in  the  first  part, 
softening  and  exalting  the  mind,  and  now  again  they  serve 
to  exhilarate  merely  by  the  alteration  of  the  time  and  man- 
ner of  their  accompaniment,  or  rather  connection.  We  now 
arrive  at  some  exquisitely  expressive  solos  for  the  clarionet 
and  fagotto,  which  are  succeeded  by  a  strongly  contrasted 
tuttij  and  then  follows  the  first  reprise.  Here  a  new  subject 
is  worked  from  the  accompaniment  to  the  clarionet  solo, 
and  is  held  in  play  principally  between  the  stringed  instru- 
ments. It  commences  in  G  minor,  passes  through  the  domi- 
nant to  A  flat,  where  the  violins  take  up  the  clarionet  solo 


398 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 


considerably  varied,  and  modulate  to  C  minor..  Then  the 
basses  are  heard,  and  a  tutti  succeeds,  leading  to  the  repeti- 
tion of  the  commencement.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the 
descending  passages  which  formed  the  tutti  were  in  the  first 
part  introduced  in  the  original  key  of  E  ;  but  in  the  present 
instance,  by  an  alteration  of  the  harmonies,  the  same  idea  is 
reproduced  in  A,  and  consequently  a  pleasing  variety  is  the 
result,  as,  although  there  is  no  material  change  or  new  subject 
to  the  end  of  the  movement,  yet  the  former  subjects  acquire 
fresh  novelty  and  attraction  from  this  surprise  to  the  ear,  as 
they  pass  through  different  modulations  and  are  heightened  in 
effect  by  the  almost  imperceptible  graces  which  Mozart  never 
fails  to  append  every  time  he  retouches  a  trait  of  melody. 
The  andante  which  follows 


0 r 

z=^=iF±i:^z=r.-i=:hp=       =3=3    z=j==i 
zn  rbr- 


is  in  character  exquisitely  tender  and  perfectly  describes  to 
our  minds  "the  luxury  of  grief."  It  is  in  A  flat,  and  is  com- 
menced by  the  stringed  instruments,  flute,  and  fagotto.  After 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  399 

the  subject  has  been  simply  developed,  the  horns  and  clari- 
onet are  added,  and  the  second  part  is  led  by  an  exquisite 
solo  for  the  flute  into  F  minor,  the  violin  remaining  prin- 
cipal for  some  time.  The  first  phrase  is  then  resumed  in  a 
conversation  between  the  instruments,  till  we  arrive  at  a  deli- 
cious solo  for  the  clarionet,  answered  by  the  flute  and  fagotto. 
But  now  comes  the  master-stroke.  Whilst  the  subject  is  car- 
rying on  in  dialogue  between  the  stringed  instruments,  the 
clarionets,  flutes,  and  fagotti  are  recalling  old  associations  by 
the  repetition  of  three  descending  scales,  and  thus  is  the  sim- 
ple idea  produced  for  the  fourth  time  in  a  totally  different  and 
still  more  delightful  shape.  We  recognize  it  again  some  way 
further  on,  transferred  to  the  second  violin  and  tenor,  whilst 
the  subject  is  taken  by  the  wind-instruments.  The  beautiful 
conversation  of  the  fagotto  and  clarionet,  with  the  other 
instruments,  is  one  of  the  principal  distinctions  of  this  move- 
ment, as  is  likewise  its  cantabile  style.  The  parts  literally 
sing,  so  exquisitely  are  they  blended  together.  There  is  about 
the  whole  a  languor,  from  its  perfectly  legato  style,  and  yet  a 
richness  and  warmth  that  give  rise  to  emotions  the  most 
absolutely  luxurious.  A  great  love  of  contrast  is,  however  (as 
we  have  remarked),  to  be  found  in  Mozart's  music,  and  thus 
the  minuet  which  follows  is  exceedingly  animating.  The  trio 
consists  of  beautiful  solos  for  the  clarionet  and  violin,  sup- 
ported by  the  horns  and  stringed  instruments. 

The  subject  of  the  finale  is  lively  and  graceful,  and  is  led 
off  by  the  violins. 

After  the  first  tutti,  which  is  of  a  kind  to  raise  the  spirits 
from  languor,  to  which  they  would  have  sunk  during  the  an- 
dante, the  modulation  becomes  somber,  when,  having  returned 


400 


LOTOS    LEAVES. 


to  the  dominant,  the    air,   so   to   speak,   is   "trifled   with"   by 
the  clarionet,  fagotto,   and  violins.     Throughout  the  finale,  in- 


deed,  all  the  instruments  may  be  said  to  trifle.  Nor  is  this 
disposition  of  the  parts  without  design  ;  but  to  trace  this 
design  we  must  follow  the  flights  of  the  gayest  fancy,  —  we 
must  pursue  a  butterfly  flitting  from  flower  to  flower,  whilst 
every  new  reflection  of  the  sunbeams  on  its  painted  wings 
brightens  its  tints  and  exalts  their  beauty.  Thus  we  catch 
perpetual  glimpses  of  the  subject,  which,  as  it  recurs,  we  hear 
everywhere  perpetually  varying ;  it  keeps  the  mind  in  the 
never-ceasing  anticipation  of  new  pleasure,  and  the  expecta- 
tion is  never  disappointed.  Its  characteristics  are  delicacy, 
grace,  and  naivett ;  and  these  traits  are  sustained  through- 
out. 

It  should  appear  then,  from  this  general  inquiry,  that  the 
chief  differences  in  the  styles  of  Haydn  and  Mozart  may  be 
comprised  in  a  few  words.  The  genius  or  imagination  of 
Mozart  was  richer  and  more  varied,  that  of  Haydn  more  reg- 
ular and  more  concentrated.  The  former  opened  to  his  tal- 
ents a  wider  field  of  action,  and  his  forte  lay  certainly  in 
vocal  music  ;  whilst  the  number  and  beauty  of  the  instrumental 
compositions  of  the  latter,  taken  as  a  whole,  may  be  said  to 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  4OI 

surpass  his  productions  for  the  voice.*  Mozart  has,  to  a  cer- 
tain degree,  infused  into  his  symphonies  many  of  the  proper- 
ties which  belong  to  vocal  music.  Hence  the  languor,  the 
tenderness  and  intensity  of  feeling,  which  characterize  most 
of  them,  and  the  correct  and  beautiful  manner  in  which  he 
suits  the  genius  of  each  particular  wind-instrument ;  these  being 
more  analogous  to  the  different  species  of  tone  to  be  found  in 
voices,  and  being  better  adapted  to  the  tenderness,  volup- 
tuousness, and  warmth  of  his  ideas.  Nevertheless,  Mozart  is 
sometimes  so  completely  guided  by  his  enthusiasm  and  his 
fancy,  that  he  appears  to  forget  those  rules  to  which  others 
bend,  and  sometimes  his  ideas  appear  to  press  upon  him  in 
such  rich  and  varied  profusion  as  to  take  from  the  clearness 
and  unity  of  his  design.  This,  although  a  splendid  fault,  is 
one  which  Haydn  would  not  have  committed.  His  plan 
was  laid  at  first,  and  it  guided  him  steadily  to  the  last.  Nor 
was  he  ever  drawn  aside  by  the  desire  of  producing  an  effect, 
however  striking,  if  it  were  not  in  perfect  consonance  with 
his  design. 

We  must  now  turn  to  the  last  great  model  of  the  school  of 
these  composers.  Beethoven  may  indeed  be  considered  as 
having  followed  them,  and  at  the  same  time  as  having  en- 
larged so  considerably  the  extent  of  the  way  they  struck  out, 
as  to  have  left  only  slight  traces  of  their  steps.  After  what 
we  have  already  said  on  the  subject  of  the  eccentricity  of 
Beethoven,  it  will,  perhaps,  be  thought  singular  that  we  should 

*  We  are  aware  that  many  will  be  disposed  to  differ  from  us  in  this  opinion, 
but  the  test  of  the  merit  of  music  is  the  general  estimation  in  which  it  is  held. 
Haydn's  instrumental  compositions  are  more  frequently  performed  than  his  vocal, 
whilst  some  of  Mozart's  operas  still  stand  proudly  pre-eminent. 


402  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

assert  that  the  germs  of  this  characteristic  are  to  be  found  in 
Mozart.  They  who  have  studied  his  works  will,  however,  we 
doubt  not,  agree  with  us.  For  a  striking  instance,  we  refer 
the  reader  to  the  passage  immediately  after  the  double  bar 
in  the  finale  to  his  symphony  in  G  minor.  We  have  selected 
Beethoven's  First  Symphony  in  C  for  our  analysis,  because, 
being  one  of  his  earlier  productions,  it  possesses  only  enough 
of  this  quality  to  render  it  original,  and  because  it  is  one  of 
the  most  esteemed,  though  by  no  means  the  best. 

The  first  two  chords  of  the  adagio  display  the  desire  of 
novelty,  as,  instead  of  beginning  on  the  reputed  key  of  C,  a 
flat  seventh  is  inserted  in  its  place,"  which  resolves  into  the 
chord  of  the  subdominant.  Then  we  have  the  dominant  also 
with  a  seventh,  which,  by  raising  the  bass  one  tone,  passes 
into  A  minor,  and  again  we  have  D  with  a  seventh,  which 
resolves  into  the  chord  of  the  dominant,  in  which  key  the 
plan  of  the  movement  may  be  said  to  begin.  It  consists  only 
of  twelve  measures,  and  leads  by  a  running  passage  for  the 
stringed  instruments  to  the  allegro  con  brio.  There  is  no  sin- 
gle word  in  the  English  language  which  describes  the  charac- 
ter of  this  movement,  and  the  finale  to  the  same  symphony, 
so  well  as  the  Italian  one  of  Brioso,  especially  the  latter  ;  in 
the  present,  perhaps,  there  is  a  little  too  much  intensity,  —  not 
however,  the  intensity  of  Mozart,  for  Beethoven  is  seldom  or 
ever  tender,  his  melancholy  is  of  a  higher  cast, — 

"  A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air, 
'T  was  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  't  was  wild,"  — 

and  in  his  movements  of  a  higher  character  the  same  wild- 
ness  is  to  be  found  in  a  less  degree. 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  403 

There  is  nothing  striking  or  even  pleasing  in  the  subject  of 
the  present :  — 


Indeed,  in  the  allegros  of  Beethoven  this  is  frequently  the 
case.  It  appears  as  if  he  wished  to  display  his  power  of  pro- 
ducing great  effects  by  slender  means  ;  consequently  they  gain 
upon  us  as  they  proceed,  instead  of  at  once  riveting  the  fancy, 
as  happens  when  we  listen  to  the  beautiful  morceanx  on 
•which  similar  movements  of  Haydn  and  Mozart  are  built. 
After  the  development  of  his  theme,  and  the  first  tutti,  which 
may  be  considered  in  all  symphonies  as  the  mere  prelude  to 
what  follows,  a  simple  but  beautiful  trait  of  melody  is  made 
the  subject  of  conversation  between  the  flute  and  oboe,  subse- 
quently thp  clarionet  and  fagotto  are  introduced,  as  it  were, 
by  gradations,  and  lastly  the  violins.  The  accompaniment  to 
this  passage,  which  in  the  present  instance  is  formed  from  the 
last  bar  of  the  subject,  is  of  a  kind  peculiar  to  this  composer, 
and  is  introduced  in  the  same  manner  in  his  overture  to  Pro- 
metheus. The  modulation  being  carried  into  G  minor,  the 
same  solo  somewhat  varied  is  taken  up  by  the  basses,  and 
leads  to  a  return  of  the  subject  in  F  sharp.  We  may  here 
remark  that  one  of  the  leading  characteristics  of  Beethoven's 
style  consists  in  the  power  and  character  which  he  gives  to 
his  basses.  In  this  respect  he  might  almost  be  termed  the 
Handel  of  symphonists.  If  they  be  ever  so  simple,  they  are 


404  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

distinguished  by  a  solidity  and  originality  that  always  invests 
the  whole  composition  with  grandeur.  At  the  second  reprise 
the  subject  passes  through  A,  D,  and  G  to  C  minor,  and  the 
movement  here  takes  a  mysterious  form  ;  a  tremando  is  kept 
up  by  the  second  violin  and  tenor,  whilst  the  short  strain  be- 
fore alluded  to  as  peculiar  to  Beethoven  is  distributed  in 
alternate  solos  between  the  first  violin,  fagotto,  flute,  and  oboe; 
after  this,  the  dialogue  becomes  very  singular.  A  passage, 
evidently  formed  on  the  third  and  fourth  measures  of  the  sub- 
ject, is  led  off  by  the  stringed  instruments,  whilst  the  first 
and  second  measures  are  kept  in  constant  response  by  the 
wind-instruments  through  several  keys,  till  a  rolling  bass  con- 
cludes it  in  unison  on  E,  and  the  flutes,  clarionets,  oboes, 
and  fagotti  lead  back  to  the  opening  by  a  sostenuto  passage 
also  in  unison.  After  a  tutti  which  differs  considerably  from 
the  first,  the  solo  before  taken  in  G  by  the  flute  and  oboe  is 
here  transferred  to  the  flute  and  clarionet  in  C,  and  it  is  ulti- 
mately conducted  again  to  C  minor,  while  it  is  taken  by  the 
basses,  thus  producing  a  fine  contrast.  In  the  concluding  tutti 
we  have  another  alteration.  The  first  measures  of  the  subject 
are  taken  by  the  basses,  whilst  the  last  is  taken  by  other  in- 
struments. This  had  never  before  this  time  been  the  case  ; 
but  the  composer  was  aware  of  the  strength  of  this  passage, 
when  referred  to  a  situation  to  bring  it  out,  and  he  judi- 
ciously reserves  it  for  the  winding  up,  where  it  produces  a 
magnificent  effect. 

The  characteristics  of  this  allegro  are  unity  of  design,  sim- 
plicity in  melody,  and  strong  contrast.  In  the  first  there  are 
evident  traces  of  the  master  Haydn,  as  may  be  noticed  from 
the  fact  that,  with  one  exception,  every  passage  is  formed  on 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  405 

the  original  subject.  In  clearness,  however,  he  falls  very  short 
of  his  model ;  he  has  not  the  same  pertinacity  in  adhering  to 
his  plan,  that  is  to  say,  he  is  contented  with  keeping  up  a 
chain  of  connection  formed  of  the  more  prominent  parts  of  his 
idea,  without  attending  to  those  finer  links  which  assist  so 
materially,  though  almost  imperceptibly,  in  awakening  previous 
associations.  In  the  same  manner  he  has  not  the  same  well- 
constructed  plan  in  the  use  of  his  instruments  as  Mozart,  who 
will  make  one  or  two  very  prominent,  and  assign  to  them  a 
certain  passage  which  they  alone  shall  work  upon,  and  which 
will  form  a  landmark,  as  it  were,  in  his  ocean  of  melody, 
whilst  Beethoven  will,  for  the  sake  of  contrast,  transfer  an 
idea  from  one  instrument  to  another,  so  that,  if  we  would  re- 
call it,  it  comes  to  the  mind  in  twenty  different  forms.  At 
the  same  time,  Beethoven  produces  greater  and  more  striking 
effects  from  simpler  means  than  either  of  his  predecessors  ; 
his  combinations  are  more  novel,  and  there  is  an  innate 
strength  and  vigor  in  his  music  which  can  hardly  be  found 
elsewhere. 


The  andante  is  upon  an  extremely  simple  subject,  of  a 
cheerful,  though  smooth  character,  and  it  is  so  contrived  that 
the  instruments  take  it  up  one  after  another  in  the  style  of 
the  fugue,  which  has  a  rich  and  novel  effect.  It  becomes 
gradually  more  playful  as  it  proceeds,  and  the  first  part  con- 
cludes with  a  staccato  passage  of  triplets  for  the  violins  and 
clarionet.  In  the  second  part  we  have  a  good  contrast ;  the 
key  is  changed  from  F  to  C  minor,  and  again  the  instru- 


406  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

ments  drop  singly  on  a  succession  of  minor  thirds  and  fifths, 
till,  leading  to  a  staccato  accompaniment  for  the  fagotto  and 
stringed  instruments,  the  thirds  and  fifths  are  brought  in  spas- 
modically and  give  a  wild  and  complaining  effect.  Gradually 
the  subject  is  resumed  in  the  major  key,  and  is  most  beauti- 
fully varied,  in  a  manner  approaching  to  a  fugue,  though  it 
does  not  conform  to  the  laws  of  that  species  of  writing.  The 
principal  ideas  guide  the  composer  the  whole  way  though. 

The  minuet  and  trio  are,  the  one  spirited,  the  other  grace- 
ful and  fantastic,  to  a  very  high  degree.  Beethoven  makes 
more  of  this  part  of  the  symphony,  we  are  inclined  to  think, 
than  either  of  his  predecessors.  He  infuses  into  it  a  larger 
portion  of  spirit  and  contrast,  and  renders  it  more  important 
to  the  body  of  the  work.  The  trio  is  between  the  horn, 
clarionet,  and  violin,  and  is  a  most  exquisite  bit  of  dialogue. 

In  the  subject  of  the  finale  there  is  more  to  please  the 
fancy  than  we  have  yet  met  with.  It  catches  at  once  by  its 
airiness  and  simplicity  ;  how  beautifully  is  this  effect  height- 
ened by  the  passage  given  to  the  violoncellos  in  the  second 
strain !  and  again,  what  an  animating  contrast  is  found  in 
the  passage  for  the  basses,  beginning  at  the  twenty-fourth 
measure !  In  this  movement  there  is  nothing  but  what  is 
lively  and  easy,  but  there  is  not  the  same  mastery  of  con- 
struction that  is  to  be  found  in  the  allegro.  The  composer 
appears  to  write  more  for  the  pleasure  than  the  instruction 
of  his  hearers  ;  there  it  was  agreeable  reflection,  here  it  is 
pure  recreation  and  enjoyment.  This,  we  are  aware,  is  the 
general  character  of  the  finales  to  both  Haydn  and  Mozart, 
but  scarcely  to  the  same  degree.  Those  of  the  former  are 
more  refined  and  chastened,  those  of  the  latter  'richer  and 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  407 

more  luxurious  ;  and  in  both  they  are  more  elaborate  than 
Beethoven.  They  appear  to  us  to  possess  a  freedom  from  all 
restraint,  an  exuberance  of  spirit  that  carries  everything 
along  ;  yet  the  hand  of  the  master  is  to  be  observed  in  the 
formation  of  the  design  and  its  preservation  to  the  conclu- 
sion ;  and  here,  where  he  is  not  so  constantly  aiming  at  effect, 
the  style  is  more  perspicuous. 

We  have  now  completed  a  sufficiently  minute  analysis  of 
three  of  the  best  works  of  these  great  masters,  to  enable  us 
to  compare  their  different  styles,  and  to  determine  whether 
any  decided  improvements  had  been  made  in  the  symphony 
as  it  was  left  to  Mozart  and  Beethoven  by  its  immortal  in- 
ventor. We  have  already  shown  on  what  slender  foundations 
Haydn  raised  this  lasting  fabric.  The  materials  for  its  forma- 
tion he  drew  from  the  fertile  resources  of  his  own  mind.  He 
gave  character  and  importance  to  every  instrument,*  assigning 
to  each  a  part  adapted  to  its  powers  ;  he  classified  them,  and 
taught  them  the  language  that  is  not  only  intelligible,  but 
delightful  to  the  ear  of  the  musician,  and  he  established  cer- 
tain rules  by  which  he  formed  a  new  species  of  descriptive 
music,  and  gave  to  the  mere  "  concord  of  sweet  sounds "  a 
definite  character  which  it  never  before  possessed,  except  when 
in  conjunction  with,  or  rather  subordinate  to,  the  human  voice. 
Besides  the  simple  invention  of  the  symphony,  it  cannot  be 
determined  how  far  this  very  circumstance  might  tend  to  the 
improvement  of  the  overture,  which  was  then,  comparatively 
speaking,  at  a  low  ebb,  and  which  has  since  improved  so 
materially.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  invention  itself  was  suffi- 
cient to  immortalize  the  composer,  and  as  a  proof  of  the  sta- 

*  Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony,  and  the  Symphony-Cantata,  by  Mendelssohn. 


408  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

bility  of  the  principles  on  which  it  is  founded,  its  form  has 
been  but  slightly  altered,  except  in  one  or  two  cases  ;  it  still 
consists  of  the  adagio,  allegro,  andante,  minuetto,  or  scherzo, 
trio,  and  finale,  and  these  are  still  distinguished  by  the  same 
characteristics  that  were  first  assigned  to  them. 

It  could  not,  however,  be  supposed,  particularly  when  such 
a  composer  as  Mozart  followed  in  the  path  of  Haydn,  that  the 
symphony  would  not,  like  everything  else,  continue  in  a  state 
of  progression,  even  although  its  external  form  remained  unal- 
tered. The  genius  of  Mozart  was  cast  in  too  superb  a  mould 
to  imitate  in  any  closer  manner  than  that  of  working  on  the 
same  principles  and  aiming  at  the  same  end  as  his  prede- 
cessor.* Consequently,  the  styles  of  Haydn  and  Mozart  in 
instrumental  music  differ  nearly  as  widely  as  in  vocal.  We 
have  already  pointed  out  in  what  these  differences  consist ; 
it  remains  to  show  in  what  particulars  or  in  what  degree  the 
latter  added  to  the  beauty  of  the  symphony.  The  distin- 
guishing trait  in  Mozart's  style  is  warmth  and  richness  of 
imagination,  inasmuch  as  he  possessed  this  quality  in  a 
greater  degree  than  Haydn,  so  he  was  able  to  shadow  out  his 
musical  pictures  with  more  glowing  colors  and  to  invest 
them  with  a  greater  degree  of  interest.  Thus,  in  his  use  of 
the  wind-instruments,  he  has  shown  a  more  vivid  perception 
of  the  beautiful  than  Haydn,  and  in  this  it  is  that  his  grand 
improvement  lies.  He  has  made  nicer  distinctions  between 
their  several  qualities,  has  allotted  to  each  a  more  decided 
character  ;  he  has,  in  fact,  treated  them  more  as  the  singers 

*  Mozart  dedicated  a  set  of  his  light  quartettes  to  Haydn,  saying,  "  This 
dedication  is  only  due  to  him,  for  it  was  from  Haydn  that  I  learned  to  compose 
quartettes,"  and  he  might  have  added  also  symphonies. 


THREE    GREAT    SYMPHONISTS.  409 

of  the  orchestra,  from  their  analogy  to  the  human  voice.  In 
other  respects,  what  he  has  done  for  the  symphony  has  been 
to  enrich  it  by  a  more  vivid,  and  to  elevate  it  by  a  loftier,  vein 
of  fancy.  At  the  same  time  the  very  ardor  which  has  guided 
him  so  rightly  in  one  sense  has  misled  him  in  another,  by 
sometimes  carrying  him  beyond  the  limits  of  that  pure  and 
delicate  taste  which  Haydn  never  overstepped,  and  by  causing 
him  to  lose  sight  of  the  clearness  and  unity  of  design  which 
constituted  one  of  the  greatest  perfections  of  his  illustrious 
predecessor. 

When  Beethoven  entered  upon  his  musical  career,  it  is  to 
be  supposed  naturally  that,  from  being  the  scholar  of  Haydn, 
instrumental  music  would  first  absorb  his  attention.  The 
symphony,  at  once  the  newest  and  highest  species  of  composi- 
tion, opened  a  wide  and  splendid  field  to  the  exertions  of  the 
aspiring  composer  ;  but,  if  we  consider  the  state  of  perfection 
in  which  it  was  left  by  Haydn  and  Mozart,  it  is  evident  that 
Beethoven  would  be  constrained  either  to  become  a  copyist 
or  to  strike  out  a  new  path  for  himself,  and  how  dangerous 
would  this  attempt  be  to  any  one  of  the  most  powerful  tal- 
ents ?  Such,  however,  did  Beethoven  possess.  In  his  earliest 
productions,  which  consisted  of  sonatas,  trios,  quartettes,  and 
quintettes  for  the  piano-forte  and  other  instruments,  he  was 
accused  of  crude  modulation,  and  an  attempt  rather  to  be  sin- 
gular than  pleasing.  It  appears,  then,  that  originality  was  his 
earliest  distinction,  and  this  it  is  that  has  placed  him  by  the 
side  of  Haydn  and  Mozart  in  the  symphony,  without  his  being 
the  imitator  of  either.  It  cannot  be  denied  that '  in  his  first 
productions  of  this  kind  —  for  instance,  in  the  one  we  have 
analyzed  —  traces  may  be  found  in  the  general  construction 


410  LOTOS    LEAVES. 

of  the  style  of  his  masters,  yet  as  a  whole  no  style  can  be 
more  decidedly  opposed  to  those  of  his  two  predecessors  than 
that  of  Beethoven. 

The  mind  of  this  master  was,  as  is  generally  known,  of  a 
very  peculiar  formation,  and,  if  we  read  his  works  aright,  we 
should  say  that  he  possessed  a  lofty,  though  not  rich  imagi- 
nation, and  that  this,  combined  with  great  simplicity  and 
strength  of  conception,  raised  him  nearer  the  sublime  than 
either  of  those  who  preceded  him.  At  the  same  time  he  ap- 
pears to  have  possessed  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  originality, 
from  which  he  drew  so  constantly  as  to  render  it  sometimes 
a  failing  rather  than  an  excellence.  This  is,  we  regret  to  say, 
too  much  the  case  in  the  Ninth  Symphony.  We  mention  this 
work  more  particularly,  because  in  it  was  introduced  the  first 
innovation  upon  Haydn's  original  plan,  before  alluded  to,  in 
the  shape  of  a  chorus,  which  formed  a  part  of  the  fourth  and 
last  movement,  as  also  in  the  symphony  opening  with  an  alle- 
gro t  and  having  no  minuet  or  trio.  Beethoven  is  not  generally 
considered  to  have  succeeded  in  the  attempt  to  unite  the  two 
opposite  styles  of  vocal  and  instrumental  music.  Even  in  the 
present  day,  its  effect,  when  it  is  occasionally  performed,  is 
such  as  to  leave  upon  the  public  mind  a  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment and  fatigue.  Its  length  alone  will  be  a  never-failing  cause 
of  complaint  to  those  who  reject  monopoly  in  sounds. 

The  fact  is  clear  to  the  philosophic  observer,  that  there 
must  be  a  natural  tendency  in  the  mind  to  vocal  music,  as 
presenting  definite  ideas  to  the  mind  ;  consequently,  when  in- 
strumental is  combined  with  vocal,  the  latter  takes  the  lead,  as 
it  were,  in  the  train  of  association,  the  former  falls  from  a 
principal  to  a  subordinate,  and  the  combination  thus  belongs 


THREE  GREAT  SYMPHONISTS.        411 

to  no  class,  and  possesses  no  distinct  character,  or,  if  any,  be- 
comes a  chorus.  It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  symphony 
retains  its  original  form  unchanged,  and  that  Beethoven  has 
aided  its  advance  towards  perfection  by  strength  and  sublimity  ; 
whilst  at  the  same  time  his  own  particular  style  is  distin- 
guished, besides  these  attributes,  by  originality,  simplicity, 
beauty  of  melody,  and  great  power  of  description,  which  is 
alone  displayed  .  in  that  really  stupendous  work,  his  Pastoral 
Symphony. 

The  result  of  this  investigation,  to  our  conception,  is  that, 
by  a  happy  concurrence,  three  minds  more  perfectly  formed  for 
the  establishment  of  this  magnificent  invention  could  not  have 
succeeded  each  other  than  those  of  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  Beet- 
hoven. The  first  gave  it  form  and  substance,  and  ordained 
the  laws  by  which  it  should  move,  adorning  it  at  the  same 
time  with  superior  taste,  perspicuity  of  design,  and  beautiful 
melody  ;  the  second  added  to  the  fine  creation  of  his  fancy 
by  richness,  warmth,  and  variety ;  and  the  last  endowed  it 
with  sublimity  of  description  and  power.  When  will  the  artist 
appear  who  shall  combine  all  these  attributes?  —  for  what 
others  can  be  added? 


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